


Mahou Shounen Kuroko Magica

by flonnebonne



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball, Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magika | Puella Magi Madoka Magica
Genre: Crossover, Despair despair everywhere, Gen, How do you spell Kyubey, I swear I didn’t know there was gonna be a real magical boys series when I started writing this, KnB is easier to cross over with a magical girls series than an actual sports series, Kyubey POV, Magical Boys, Spoilers, Teikou Era
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-24
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-03-08 20:42:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 21,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3222779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flonnebonne/pseuds/flonnebonne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where did the Generation of Miracles get their Miracles? Where did they get their Despair? Where did they get their Fabulous Hair? </p><p>From a small adorable telepathic talking magical animal of course! </p><p>Incidentally the Generation of Miracles might have also turned into magical boys along the way.</p><p>HUGE spoilers for Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magica. And, uh, for Kuroko no Basket.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I mean it about the spoilers. Don't read this if you haven't finished Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magica and you plan to watch it!

Upon witnessing the Generation of Miracles generate their miracles, some spectators could not help but whisper the word _witchcraft_. 

How else could an ordinary human explain this feeling of inevitability, of terrible destiny, whenever Midorima let the ball fly so gently from his hands? Was it not magic, that impossibly high arc, the way the ball could hang suspended in the air for a long moment of eternity--only to fall, perfect and true, through the exact centre of the hoop, half a court away, half a world away? How could Midorima never miss, shot after shot after shot? Did this nerdy-looking middle school student perform infernal rituals once a day or something? Did he actually get something out of that hokey morning horoscope show he listened to? Was that where the magic came from? Astrology? Perhaps, perhaps.  

Okay, but how could anyone explain the wonder that was Aomine Daiki? The way he seemed to flow like liquid fire beneath the hoop, limbs akimbo yet graceful, impossibly graceful, sweeping the ball from hand to hand to air to hoop, double clutches and hook shots and behind-the-backboard loop shots (really? behind the backboard?)--so easy peasy it made you queasy. Was the kid on drugs? No, Aomine was not on drugs. Aomine skipped practices, got bad grades, spoke rudely to his teachers and otherwise played the part of teenage delinquent very well, but he was not on drugs. So what was he on, then? Black magic? 

How silly. 

Kise? How about Kise? Wasn't he the weakest, the least of the five? A prancing model, a pretty head full of hot air? At any rate he had only started playing in his second year of middle school—wasn’t it disgusting that anyone could be so good after such a short time? How did he copy others so perfectly? Was he secretly a robot or what? Or was it just that such an empty head was easy to fill with other things? Yes, that had to be it. Not witchcraft at all. 

Murasakibara Atsushi--Murasakibara could not, according to any definition of logic or common sense, exist as a physical being. No teenager could have arms that long. No basketball player should be able to stand in one place and yet be a devastating, hurricane-like force. No human ought to be able to eat that much junk food and yet live. Surely the world could not have such a person in it. Surely diabetes, high cholesterol, and shortness would one day be cured thanks to careful study of such a person’s genetics. Yes, Murasakibara was, in a word, a mutant. Nothing magical about him. 

And finally…finally there was Akashi. Akashi of the eyes. Akashi of the future sight. Akashi of the broken ankles. Let us not speak of Akashi, and magic, in the same sentence. 

 _Witchcraft_ , the whisperers whispered. 

But no--there was nothing here of witchcraft. 

Not yet. 


	2. Aomine

Aomine had been the first. 

"No, I don't want to be a…what was it you said, ‘a magical warrior of love and justice’? Why the hell are you asking me? Shouldn't you be asking a little girl or something?"

It was a hard sell, even for an interstellar being as cute as Kyuubei. 

"We usually do ask girls, but that division is undergoing review,” Kyuubei admitted. He was allowed to admit things sometimes. "That's why we decided to branch out to the other half of the population. And to appeal to boys, we decided to go into sports--we noticed boys care a great deal about secondary school sports competitions.” 

"Girls play sports too." 

Kyuubei tilted his head. "Really? I thought they were all just managers.”

“It sometimes seems that way,” Aomine conceded. 

“If you don't want to be a magical sports warrior for justice, what do you want to be?" 

Aomine shrugged. But his voice softened ever so slightly as he said: “I just want to play basketball.” 

"You love basketball more than anyone, right, Aomine?"

Aomine crossed his arms and tapped his foot, unable to sit still. Kyuubei appreciated his energy, in more ways than one. “What's it to you?" 

"Will you always be that way? I've seen people fall out of love before. Losing one's passion seems to be an inevitable part of growing up."

Aomine stared. Kyuubei stared back. Kyuubei had never lost a staring contest with a mere human before. 

Aomine looked away first. “I don’t believe you.” 

“It will happen to you too, despite what you may think right now.” 

Kyuubei waited a moment before continuing. “There is a way to prevent your loss, however. You just need to make a wish."

Aomine's left eye twitched. "I already told you I don't want to become a magical boy." 

"How about a Miracle?" 

"Aren't you just renaming it?" 

"You won't have to fight evil beings in the evening,” Kyuubei offered. He could be generous when necessary. “It won’t interfere with basketball practice or schoolwork.”

“Huh? Evil beings?"

“Ah, wrong division.” Kyuubei didn't mention that Aomine would probably be the one to turn into an evil being, eventually. "You won't have to change anything about your life when you become a Miracle. You'll just get your wish, any small, insignificant wish--like keeping your love of basketball no matter what happens.”   

Aomine's eyebrows drew together. "Will you leave me alone if I make a wish?” 

“If that's what you want, yes."

Kyuubei waited as the boy thought it over. Fortunately, it didn't take long--Aomine Daiki was not the most thoughtful human on this planet, nor even in his middle school, not by far.  

"Fine," Aomine said, finally, "but only because I don't want to keep having this stupid conversation. 

Kyuubei continued to smile. "Then make a contract with me and become a Miracle, Aomine Daiki!"

"Yeah, yeah, where do I sign." 

“It’s not that kind of contract,” said Kyuubei, and made magic happen. 

A whirl of blue sparkles. Limbs arching artfully and entirely involuntarily. A flash of vintage Chicago Bulls boxer shorts. 

“What the hell!” Aomine shrieked as he _changed_. 

Into a new outfit, that is. 

“You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to,” said Kyuubei. Aomine was too busy gaping at his shiny blue skirt to reply. 

\- 0 - 0 -

For some odd reason, Aomine was not entirely happy with his transformation into a sailor-suited soldier of...something that was definitely not love or justice. 

He did get his wish, however. 


	3. Murasakibara

Kyuubei chose Murasakibara next.

"Hmmm. Any one wish?"

Murasakibara was sitting on hard concrete against a hard brick wall, but somehow he made it look perfectly comfortable. “Any one wish?" Murasakibara said again, eyes sliding shut in contemplation, or perhaps for a quick nap. 

"Yes. Though I recommend you not wish for anything too audacious. Some wishes have caused problems with the space-time continuum in the past," Kyuubei said regretfully.

“How about I wish for the power of Thor?"

Kyuubei blinked. "The Norse god of thunder? I think that would count as audacious." 

"Really? Well, never mind that. I can get that kind of thing on my own."

"Is that so." 

Murasakibara let his body slump even further, eyes still closed. "Hey, did Mine-chin make a wish? He’s seemed a lot…I dunno, shinier lately.”

Perhaps Murasakibara was not as dumb as he looked. “Very perceptive of you.”

“Did he wish to become a genius at basketball or something? He's gotten kind of too good."

"No, he didn't. I could tell you his wish, but he might not like that. It was a very personal wish. Why don't you ask him yourself?" 

Murasakibara made a face, as if asking another boy a private question was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard of.   

"I'm just wondering because he seems at least as good as Kobe Bryant lately," Murasakibara said, and then added, "but maybe not as good as Michael Jordan." 

"Aomine plays power forward though," Kyuubei pointed out. "Kobe Bryant and Michael Jordan are both primarily shooting guards." 

"No kidding?" Murasakibara frowned sleepily. "I thought shooting guards were supposed to just be good at shooting from the outside or something."

"A common misconception in the world of Japanese middle school basketball."

"Well, it doesn't really matter.” Murasakibara's face smoothed out again, like dough being rolled out on a cookie sheet. “Even if Mine-chin were cheating, I wouldn’t care. Doesn't matter at all."

“Why do you say that?”

Murasakibara took a moment to answer. “Because basketball is dumb.”

And then his head lolled to the side in earnest.  

Kyuubei wondered if the boy had actually fallen asleep. So Kyuubei waited.

Suddenly purple eyes snapped open, a serious look in them. "I'm hungry.”

There was a rustle of plastic, and a package of mini baumkuchen appeared out of nowhere; Murasakibara proceeded to make them disappear. After that he devoured a dozen differently flavoured Umaibo sticks, and then a box of unfortunate Jagarico sticks, and then a half-melted popsicle...

"Hey, I thought of something non-audacious enough to wish for," Murasakibara said once the carnage was over. "Everyone tells me my growth spurt will slow down eventually and I won't be able to eat snacks as much as I like. That's horrible. I'm going to wish that it never happens."  

Kyuubei blinked again. "That is your wish?" 

"Yeah." 

"To never stop growing?" 

"Uh, no, not that."

“To be able to eat as much as you want?”

“Yeah, and to never get fat.”

“I see. That’s wonderful. Thank you for your contribution to our cause."

"No problem."  

And Murasakibara took out some more snacks, barely even noticing as his huge, baggy clothes morphed into something a good deal tighter and more colourful and definitely much, much prettier.

“Mm, this new flavour is good,” he said.

It was definitely one of the most...tasteful contract negotiations Kyuubei had ever been through. 

\- 0 - 0 -  

And Murasakibara ate, and ate and ate, and never grew fat.

Only tall.


	4. Midorima

Midorima was more complicated, because he was more intelligent.

Also, weirder. 

"Oha Asa told me that I should not make any decisions regarding the fate of the universe today." As Midorima spoke, the hand-crafted Italian Pinocchio puppet dangling from his left hand danced jauntily. Kyuubei had to wonder at the boy’s expense account. 

“You could just wish for something that does not concern the entire universe,” Kyuubei suggested. “Something small.” 

“However, to begin with, I am not the sort of person to meddle with fate." 

"That's true," said Kyuubei. "Your devotion to human beliefs regarding star charts and such is truly remarkable." 

"I am also not the sort of person who would take a shortcut to success." 

"That's very admirable." 

"I work diligently. That is why fate favours me." 

"I agree," Kyuubei agreed, if only to be agreeable. "But haven't you ever heard the idea that fortune favours the bold?" 

Midorima pushed up his glasses, eyes sharp and green. "You won't be able to convince me with your promises of free wishes and miracles. In this world, everything has its price. I understand that all too well." Then he ruined it by adding, “You see, on some days, Cancer is at the top of the rankings. On other days, Cancer has the worst luck. That is the way of the world."  

“Hm, is that so. Well, maybe I’ll come back another day then.” 

Despite the poor end to Midorima’s speech, Kyuubei was slightly impressed. The child was perhaps wiser than the average middle school student (though that wasn't saying much). Where had he gained such insight, such foresight?

From someone with good eyes, obviously.  


	5. Akashi

The meeting of Akashi and Kyuubei was, to put it hyperbolically, epic. 

Here's how it happened:

An empty classroom, a shougi board: the beat of ancient emperors marching to victory and defeat, _clack clack clack_.

A pair of finely formed eyes surveyed the battlefield, tracing every possibility contained in this tiny, wooden universe.

But even further above, another pair of red eyes watched the red-eyed watcher: an interstellar being spied on a middle school student. An astonishingly  _cute_ interstellar being spied on a middle school student.

The middle school student moved a piece, hand rising and descending to the board, slow and sure and gentle as the tides of war.

The hand chose a piece and moved it.  

The eyes considered.

Then the hand moved a piece for the other side.

And Kyuubei couldn't help wondering, without a hint of irrational whimsy: which side did the hand truly belong to? Was the hand winning its game, or losing?

It was a relevant question, psychoanalytically speaking.   

"I know you're there," said the boy. 

"You're very observant," Kyuubei observed.

"Too observant, sometimes," Akashi murmured. "Shintarou warned me about you. I would like to form a contract." 

Psychoanalysis, thought Kyuubei, was unnecessary; pragmatics would always win, regardless of this hand or that.

"I can't say I'm displeased," said Kyuubei truthfully, "but is Midorima going to be happy with that?" 

Akashi's gentle voice said, "Shintarou, as well-intentioned as he may be, is not positioned to understand my decisions."

"Isn't he?" said Kyuubei. "Midorima is in the exact same position as you. He is in danger of being left behind too." 

For a moment, Akashi's striking red eyes flickered with some unknown emotion (all emotions were, strictly speaking, unknown to Kyuubei). The boy said: "Shintarou is not like me. He will not be left behind."

Akashi turned his face away, toward the windows, and sunlight turned the red of his left eye into a colour closer to gold. 

Kyuubei put on a curious look. "Is your wish to grow taller, then?" 

Akashi's eyes flashed again, but this time with nothing more profound than annoyance. Kyuubei had no problem reading the look. Kyuubei annoyed people a lot. 

"No." Akashi said, seeming to regain his self-possession. He kept the dramatic lighting though. "I will not waste my one wish on assuaging my ego. I am not so selfish. No, my wish is for nothing less than absolute victory in all that I do."   

“Some might construe that wish as a particularly selfish one,” said Kyuubei.

“I have no interest in the philosophies of others, or philosophy at all,” came the answer plain.

“I see.” Kyuubei’s tail curled with delight. Akashi's wish, the force of the will behind it, would create a vortex of eldritch energy, drawing all who came near it into its insatiable pull until the entire world of high school basketball become a terrible void of darkness and despair, or at least a very unpleasant place to be.

It was exactly the kind of wish someone with a father complex would make, Kyuubei mused.

"Are you sure?" he asked, because it was important that his charges went into their contracts full willing. It made them feel worse later.

"I am sure," Akashi said calmly. 

"You don't feel that your wish is a form of cheating?" 

"I don't even feel that it's a wish. It's more a confirmation of...who I already am." 

More like who Akashi expected himself to be. But that's wasn't Kyuubei's problem. There was only one thing left to be said before closing the deal. "You seem like too kind a person to ask for such a ruthless miracle." 

For a moment, the kind young man in Akashi hesitated.

Then, the kind young man vanished. 

"Give me victory," said Akashi. 

"As you wish," said Kyuubei.

\- 0 - 0 -

Akashi was so sure of his path he didn’t even mind the skirt.

Not that he ever wore it, except in the privacy of his own quarters, where he could stand before his mirror and see himself as he had become: clad in red and gold, lovely and terrible as dawn and sunset all at once.

The next day, Akashi engaged in a short one-on-one basketball match with Murasakibara, and won. 


	6. Midorima II

Akashi became pretty much a different person entirely, except exactly the same as before. 

No one seemed to understand this but Kyuubei. 

"What have you done?" Midorima demanded. Today he was carrying a jack-in-the-box, wound and ready to spring. "The others have changed, but Akashi is...he seems to have developed a mental disorder. And psychic powers."  

"You would know, since you plan to be a doctor," Kyuubei said helpfully. "Why don't you make a wish to get into Tokyo University's medical school?"

Midorima’s jaw clenched; he was easily distracted. "I told you, I will succeed because of my hard work. I do not need to resort to your trickery." 

“But you're falling behind the others, aren't you?" 

At this point Aomine and Murasakibara were growing at an astonishing rate (literally, in Murasakibara's case), and Akashi's new ability to make people spontaneously fall down spoke for itself. Midorima had to be green with envy.

But Midorima's expression did not change. "I don't care about them. I only care about my own development, which is going well."  

"I'm going to approach Kise soon. Do you want to be left behind by him too?" 

Midorima's expression changed. "Kise is an idiot." 

"Imagine how it will feel to be surpassed by him." 

The hand holding jack-in-the-box lowered a few centimetres, then tightened its grip. 

"You won't convince me. I would rather be left behind than let you...destroy my integrity."

"Integrity?" The word amused Kyuubei in general. "Funny you should mention that, when basketball is a game that's inherently unfair. But maybe someone like you wouldn't understand. Akashi said you wouldn't." Kyuubei kept talking so Midorima wouldn't have a chance to think too hard on that. "Besides, it's not like I'm asking you to cheat. None of the others made wishes directly related to their basketball abilities."

"Akashi can make people fall down at will now." 

"I only helped him find what was already there.” Kyuubei wasn’t lying. “You, of all people, must have known Akashi’s true face before this. Didn’t you?” 

Midorima lowered his head, until the glare on his glasses hid his eyes. “There are…two Akashi Seijuurous. I’ve seen it. I wonder if they are both Sagittariuses.”

“It’s true that humans can’t really know one another.” Kyuubei threw that platitude out there. “Anyway, you should worry more about yourself. You work hard, and don’t ask for much, it’s true. There’s nothing wrong with wishing for something small for yourself.”

Midorima's lips pursed slightly with thoughtfulness, and Kyuubei wondered if one of the qualifications to be a magical boy was a certain…prissiness.

"If, hypothetically speaking," Midorima began, voice low, "I were to wish to be able to find my lucky item every morning--let's say, I needed to find a head of cabbage, but there was a cabbage blight...it would be nice if I could still find it. And in time for school, so I wouldn't have to skip my first class."

"That's something you've worried about for a long time, isn't it?" Kyuubei said sympathetically. "Cabbage blights.”

"It's hard to be diligent at everything when chance brings such terrors your way." 

Kyuubei was almost done here. "A bit of luck is not much to ask for. I think it's a good wish for you."

He stared into Midorima's eyes, red into green, and green looked away first.

After a moment, Midorima said, "Akashi asked for something big, didn't he?"

Kyuubei tilted his head to one side. "Why do you say that?"

"All his life he's had everything, and all his life he's paid a high price for it." 

"You know that better than anyone, don't you? You've always paid a part of that price for him."

In lieu of an answer, the boy made his wish. 

And magic happened, so that Midorima Shintarou, who had already acted like a princess, now looked like one too.

Such was fate.

\- 0 - 0 -

And if fate told him, every day, to wish upon a star, his own star, to allow God to dispose of him as he would--well, Midorima could hardly refuse the call.

The fate of others, meanwhile, was no longer his business.


	7. Kise

And finally there was Kise. 

Kyuubei expected another easy one with Kise.    

"AAaaaaaaAAaahhh," said the very blonde boy upon meeting Kyuubei. "AaaaAAAaaaahhh oh wait, I thought I was hearing voices but it was just a small telepathic animal. Why am I talking to a small telepathic animal?"

"Technically, you have yet to actually address me directly," Kyuubei pointed out. "You're just talking to yourself."

"I do that sometimes," Kise conceded, "but only because people don't listen to me." 

Kyuubei explained the terms of the contract, warning Kise there would be a certain amount of dressing up involved, at least at first (“I like dressing up!”), but no going out to fight monsters ("good, I'm too busy with my other job as it is"), no violence or killing or anything unpleasant like that, just basketball. Kise hummed and hawed for a few seconds then said, "Okay, that sounds good. No wait, I can't. Sorry. Well, I probably can't."

"Probably?"

"I already have a super exclusive contract with my modelling agency requiring me to seek their counsel in response to all offers of employment submitted to me or inquiries concerning my services in fields both related and unrelated to my profession (Kyuubei had the distinct feeling Kise was parroting a lawyer) in the interest of maintaining a consistent and positive public image. Also, I have to abide to all sorts of ridiculous protection clauses because I'm still a minor, which actually makes me  _more_  vulnerable to scary lawyers rather than less, in my opinion, and totally sucks." Kise blew his long, silky bangs out of his face. "Basically, if you want me to sign anything, you’ll have to talk it over with my agency. But since you're...you know, magical and adorable and super marketable, I would stay away from them. They'd eat you alive." Kise stated this fact matter-of-factly. 

"Hmmm," said Kyuubei, as if he'd never been eaten alive before. "But I'm not offering you a job, just a wish. You don't have to change anything about your life." 

"Hmmm," said Kise, exactly the same way Kyuubei had said it. "Okay, that's fine then. But I really don't know what to wish for."

"It doesn't have to be anything very important. Aomine, for example," Kyuubei dropped the name casually, "didn't think too long on it." 

“Aominecchi?” 

“Yes, him,” said Kyuubei. He didn't particularly want to use the nickname. 

Then, something strange happened. Kise’s eyes closed, his face closed, and most astonishingly his mouth closed.

Kyuubei would have been surprised if he hadn’t seen it happen on the basketball court so many times. It happened whenever Kise tried to copy something beyond him, or someone beyond him.  

"Some people say Kise Ryouta is just a poor imitation of others," the boy said, eyes still shut. "All he can do is copy, he has no original moves, his basketball is not his own."

"Even I've heard those rumours," said Kyuubei, ever-helpful. 

"But you know, my basketball isn't weak. Before Aominecchi suddenly became too good to come to practice, we used to have really good one-on-ones. It was so much fun. Right now, though..." Kise's eyes opened. "I hardly see him. I’m not even sure how far away from him I am now. I suppose it's because of you."  

Kyuubei looked up. Kise, after a moment, looked away. "Aomine didn't wish to become better at basketball," Kyuubei said honestly. "Everything he's become was already a part of him."

"Even so." Kise leaned his head back, face uncharacteristically pensive.  

Kyuubei thought it was a good exprssion on the boy. "You're not as foolish as you appear, Kise Ryouta." 

"...Thanks?"

"You take pride in your basketball when others demean it." 

"In my modeling too." 

"Right." Kyuubei blinked. "That's why I think, if you continue on your own path, you'll be able to compete with Aomine again."

"Yeah? So you’re saying my own path is to follow his. I’ve always done that. It was the one thing that made me not bored.”

“It’s the thing you’re most afraid of, isn’t it? Being bored again.”

Kise ran a hand through his hair. “I know what you're doing, cute telepathic animal. I'm cute too, so I understand."

"Then you'll make a contract with me?"

"Yes. I will." Kise looked at Kyuubei expectantly. “Where do I sign? Do we need a lawyer?”

“It’s just a verbal contract,” Kyuubei told him, just as he’d told Aomine. “You only need to say your wish.”  

"Oh, right. Then...just like Aominecchi, and Murasakibaracchi and Midorimacchi and even Akashicchi, I wish to follow the path of my own basketball."

Kyuubei nodded. "Very well. Thank you for your contribution to the fight against--" 

"Oh, and Kurokocchi too," Kise added. 

"Who?" Kyuubei startled, as Kise spun in a shower of yellow light and transformed into a magical boy--or more of one, anyway.   

\- 0 - 0 - 

And Kise Ryouta was forever doomed to copy, and Copy, and Perfectly Copy.

For the fifth Miracle of Teikou had wished to follow, and so he would always follow, never reaching what he sought, no matter how he fought.

\- 0 - 0 - 

Thus Kyuubei’s task was complete, his team of five chosen ones chosen, a full rainbow complement of dazzling Magical Boys at his disposal, for disposal.

But...who was this ‘Kurokocchi’?


	8. Kuroko

Knowing Kise's naming habits, Kyuubei deduced that this Kuroko had to be an important member or affiliate of the Teikou basketball team.  

Which was strange, because Kyuubei thought he had full knowledge of every member or affiliate of the Teikou basketball team, important or otherwise. How had he missed this one? 

\- 0 - 0 -

"Tetsu-kun's passes have gotten faster, haven't they?" remarked Momoi Satsuki to Aomine, who was standing on the sidelines during practice, still dressed in his school uniform. 

"Yeah?" yawned Aomine, though there was an undercurrent of angry disappointment gurgling beneath the surface of his yawn. The usual. "So? Is this what you dragged me here for? I'm losing nap time."

"Kise has improved too." Momoi's voice took on an edge. "Practically overnight, it feels like."

"Feels like? You losing your touch, Satsuki?" 

She shook her head. "The data isn't making much sense these days," she said softly. 

Kyuubei followed Momoi's gaze to one of the side hoops, where Kise was performing an impressive alley-oop that looked almost, but not quite, exactly like the one Murasakibara had done five seconds ago at the other end of the gym. 

Murasakibara, who was making a rare appearance at practice today, was not really practicing so much as taking the opportunity to show off, get in the way, and spill snack crumbs all over the gym floor. Kise was doing much the same, minus the crumbs, as copying only went so far. A move like the alley-oop, in fact, had a higher likelihood of producing a failed copy due to the necessary addition of another player in the equation, since the person passing the ball might do so imperfectly--

Wait. Who had thrown the ball to Kise?

Kyuubei looked directly at the spot where the other player must have passed from and saw...something he did not understand. 

"I'm going to take a break," Kise said. His voice had lost much of its sparkle. “Kurokocchi, you should take a break too so I don’t get in trouble.”

"Tetsu-kun!" Momoi ran forward, arms outstretched. She reached her apparent destination and proceeded to hug the empty air. "Let's get ice cream after practice! Everyone is here today so it's a good chance." 

For the first time in his existence, Kyuubei narrowed his eyes.

Between Momoi's arms there was...a person. Yes, Kyuubei realized. There was someone there, a wavering, half-transparent shape. How strange. 

"Aomine-kun is already leaving," said the plainest, most uninteresting voice in the world. Literally, the plainest, most uninteresting voice in the world--Kyuubei ran a quick data search to check.

"What?" Momoi turned to look. "He left?” Her arms slackened around the now not-quite invisible boy's shoulders. She bit her lip. “What are we going to do with him?"

Kise gave an irritated sigh. "Couldn't he have at least stayed long enough for a scrimmage?"

"Ki-chan," Momoi said, giving him a strange look, "how about you? Want to go for ice cream?" 

"No, I'm going to take off right after practice. I have to meet my agent later. Actually...maybe I should get to the showers before everyone else does. Don't want to be late." 

He started heading toward the locker room, not looking back. 

Momoi stepped away from Kuroko. "What is happening around here?" she whispered. 

Kuroko didn't reply. 

\- 0 - 0 -

At one point, after observing Momoi Satsuki's abilities, personality, and, most importantly, hair colour, Kyuubei had considered offering her a contract.

Without a doubt, she would have been a profound source of energy, judging by the depth of her grief at what was happening to the basketball team. But in the end he'd decided against it, knowing that if she started acting like a typical magical girl--doing ostentatious transformation sequences, fighting evil things at night, and eventually dying, perhaps--she wouldn't have as much time to help the basketball team achieve their overwhelming, joyless victories of spiralling despair, which was more important. She was very good at helping the basketball team do that.

Anyway, Kyuubei was thankful that Momoi had a habit of leaving her thorough, well-organized (by human standards) notes lying around in a secret hidden spot beneath the floorboards of the clubroom.

_Kuroko Tetsuya_

_Height: 155 cm_

_Weight: 57 kg_

_Age: 15_

_Position: variable (sixth man)_

_Main role: to change the flow of the game_

Kyuubei kept reading. Momoi’s notes detailed everything about Kuroko: his strange talent for misdirection, and why it worked; how Aomine befriended him; how Akashi found him and used him; how Kuroko trained Kise in their second year, and how Kise unknowingly annoyed him; how he got along well with Murasakibara, but tended to argue with Midorima; the respect every single member of the Generation of Miracles showed him, despite his inability to make even basic shots; his shoe size and his hand size; his favourite ice cream flavour; his generosity with free ice cream he didn't want; his preference for briefs over boxers; the kind of person he might want as a lover; the kind of lover he might be; his possible kinks in the bedroom...

Momoi was perhaps slightly obsessed with Kuroko Tetsuya, but Kyuubei could understand why: the boy was a fascinating specimen. It was almost magical, the way Kuroko had completely escaped Kyuubei's notice until now. Actually, it was pretty annoying. Perhaps Kyuubei's attenuation to special individuals was working against him here? Certainly it would explain his oversight. But wasn't Kuroko, so ordinary he was invisible, rather special in his own right? 

Well, no matter. Kyuubei knew of the sixth man of Teikou now, knew of his importance to the team, knew how tangled he was in the web of demented human relationships that made Teikou such a productive site for energy cultivation. Thus, Kyuubei was morally obligated to make good use of Kuroko Tetsuya. For the sake of the universe. 


	9. Kuroko II

But how was Kuroko meant to fit into the plan? Didn't Kyuubei already have what he needed here?   

He already had Aomine, the brightest light, the catalyst. Aomine, who loved basketball so much he practically hated it. (Kyuubei didn't really understand the logic there.) 

He had Murasakibara, the natural wonder, the child-like giant. Murasakibara, looking down on everybody and everything, figuratively and literally--to the extent that he was running into doorways an awful lot nowadays. (Kyuubei had no trouble understanding the problem there.) 

He had the lynchpin: Akashi, the emperor, the empty eye of the storm, he who would become the strongest magical boy ever, and the most powerful witch too. (That is, if magical boys turned into witches. Kyuubei still wasn't sure.) 

And with Akashi he had Midorima, the rationalist, the fool. Midorima, who looked to the purity of his stars, refusing to see the staining of his soul. (Kyuubei had not told them the meaning of their soul gems, but surely even these children could feel the darkening of them.) 

And last of all he had Kise, the newcomer, the copy. Kise, who had seen the others walk into misery, and followed, eyes wide and bright; but followed Aomine most of all, bringing the line of wishes full circle. (Kyuubei knew this pattern well, and cherished it.) 

Five there were, for five was the ideal number when forming a team of magical beings, for reasons Kyuubei would never fully understand. Five warriors of hope and despair, with five distinct powers and dispositions and preferably five different hair colours and eye colours too.

Because there were five they were complete: they needed each other, loved each other even, in ways strange and true, and because they loved so well they hated each other well too. Together they would become the most terrible forces the world of middle school basketball had ever seen, Miracles turned to monsters, victors turned to devourers. The audience would never know what hit them. 

Kyuubei knew the illogical rules governing his logical mission, for was he not the keeper of the contracts? Was he not the creator of all the magical children who had ever existed, their powers and their wishes, their dreams and their witches? Five was a good number. Five was the number of starters on a basketball team. That was why Kyuubei had chosen basketball. He knew what to do with five. 

What was he to do with a sixth?

\- 0 - 0 -

_Position: variable (sixth man)_

_Main role: to change the flow of the game_

The flow of today’s game didn't need to be changed. 

Kyuubei watched, with interest, as Kuroko waited invisibly on the bench for a call that never came.

On the scoreboard, Hazemaki boasted an impressive eight points to Teikou's ninety-eight.

Then Aomine scored, all by himself, and the score became Hazemaki eight, Teikou one hundred.

The two teams were playing a friendly practice match today. 

Aomine picked up the ball, stared at it, then tossed it over his shoulder to the other team. Kuroko gripped the bench so hard the tips of his fingernails went white. 

It was wonderful, now that Kyuubei knew about Kuroko, to see him thus. His misery was so  _powerful_. None of the other children in this arena felt the doom of victory approaching so keenly, so purely as this boy did. Was it simply a result of being the sixth man on a team of Miracles? The agony of watching from the bench, so close and yet so far from the light...

But there had to be another reason. The sheer amount of emotional energy teeming beneath Kuroko's deadened expression attested to that fact. And yet no one, not even Momoi, seemed to know the depths of Kuroko's torment.  

It was fitting, Kyuubei mused, that the invisible boy should endure so invisibly. His isolation was ideal--Kyuubei could give Kuroko his own miracle, and it would not affect the others at all. Very likely the Generation of Miracles would not even notice. They would continue on their misbegotten path to national middle school basketball victory, and Kuroko would wither away on his own, alone and forgotten. 

Yes--in the shadows cast by Miracles, despair flourished like a rotten fruit, ripe for the picking--metaphorically speaking. Kyuubei had only to find the seed of the boy's suffering and the harvest could begin--metaphorically speaking. 

(Kyuubei was an entirely logical being and only used figurative language to aid humans in understanding the depths of their despair--metaphorically speaking.)

\- 0 - 0 -

Kyuubei didn't find the seed of Kuroko’s despair until just before Nationals, when Kuroko's cell phone rang for the first time in a long time. 

"Ah! You picked up! Hey, are you okay? I was a bit worried..." 

Kyuubei listened with interest to Kuroko's conversation with a boy named Ogiwara Shigehiro.  

\- 0 - 0 -

Teikou 109, Doujimazaki 5. 

"For the next match," said Kise, "why don't we compete to see who can score the most points?" 

Kyuubei looked to see what Kuroko thought of that, but realized that the boy had slipped away unnoticed, as usual, and was therefore sadly unavailable to tell his teammates what a terrible thing it was they were planning to do. 

Kyuubei went to go look for him. 

\- 0 - 0 - 

Kuroko had his cell phone out, and a certain person's name was on the screen.

"You should talk to your friend," said Kyuubei. "He misses you." 

Kuroko, being such a unpredictable presence himself, was perhaps the first person in human history to show not a single iota of surprise at Kyuubei's existence, nor at Kyuubei’s explanation for his existence. 

"I knew there had to be a reason for all that's happened," Kuroko merely said, in his quiet, straightforward way. 

He also put his phone away, which was good. 

"What did you do to them?" he asked. 

"I only gave them what they wanted," Kyuubei sighed. "Why does everyone always blame me?" 

Kuroko stared and, as if to affirm that today was to be a day of firsts, did not look away when Kyuubei stared back. 

(By comparison, Akashi had been careful not to look at Kyuubei at all.)

"Anyway, I'm not here to talk with you about the Generation of Miracles," Kyuubei went on. "I'm here to offer you a wish, Kuroko Tetsuya." 

"No thank you." 

Kuroko turned to walk away. 

"But don't you want a chance to play against your elementary school friend again?" 

Kuroko stopped walking away. 

"I understand his team lost last year before they could play against you," Kyuubei said, citing Momoi's notes. "What if that happens again?" 

Kuroko still hadn't moved. 

"He's doing well this year, but nothing is assured in basketball." Kyuubei did his usual head tilt, even though Kuroko couldn't see it. "But that's what makes it fun, isn't it? Unless you're in Teikou Middle School." 

"...be quiet," Kuroko whispered, ghostlike. 

So Kyuubei said nothing, per request, and watched as Kuroko walked away. 

This one would take some time. But that was fine. Kyuubei had all the time in this world. 

\- 0 - 0 - 

It was quite satisfying to see Kuroko's expression when he realized his teammates were not playing the game he thought they were playing.

"I won, right?" said Aomine. "Satsuki?"

"Yes, you got forty-two points," Momoi said, eyes on her clipboard. 

"So predictable," Kise sighed. 

Yes, thought Kyuubei--so predictable. He hadn't even had to lay the trap himself and Kuroko had fallen into it. 

"During today's match...why did you do something like that?" said Kuroko, voice hoarse, to the Generation of Miracles at large.  

Aomine and Kise, laughing humourlessly, assured him they'd only been having a little fun during the game to keep themselves motivated. Murasakibara and Akashi were already headed back to the locker rooms. Midorima would have nothing to do with any of them, even as Aomone threw an arm over his shoulder and drew him in. 

Kuroko watched them leave, apart, yet a part of them.

\- 0 - 0 -

Kuroko asked of the air, later, when he was by himself: "What did they wish for?"

The air responded.

"Nothing audacious," Kyuubei assured him. "Aomine, for instance, only wished never to lose his love of basketball. Isn't that wonderful?”  

"Ah," said Kuroko. “I see.” The words emerged from him slowly, a knife drawn from a heart; Kyuubei could not help but appreciate the sound of it. 

He waited for Kuroko to ask about the rest of the Generation of Miracles, but the question never came. Good--the other wishes weren't as emotionally devastating, other than Akashi’s, and Kyuubei preferred to keep Akashi's wish a secret. 

"You know," Kyuubei said, "it's true that Aomine loves basketball more than anyone, but after getting to know you, I think you love the  _idea_ of basketball more than anyone. Basketball as a team sport, anyway." He swished his tail. "That's why you're so disturbed at how the Generation of Miracles have chosen to play. It makes sense--your whole style of play is built on teamwork. _Their_ style is based on winning. I wonder which works better?" 

Kyuubei made a thoughtful noise. "But maybe you can make them see reason. Maybe by the time you play your promised game against your friend, they'll have changed. You still have hope, Kuroko. That's what makes you interesting." 

Kyuubei left him to mull over those words.

Later, Kuroko was still mulling over those words when he walked past the Meikou Middle School basketball team; perhaps that was why he completely failed to notice their ace, Ogiwara Shigehiro, staring after him. 

\- 0 - 0 -

Teikou Junior High 198, Hiramine Junior High 8. 

"This's what happens when we try too hard," Murasakibara yawned.

 _Monsters_ , someone whispered, and soon everyone in the stadium was saying it. _We called them miracles, but they are monsters_. 

That's right, thought Kyuubei. 

They weren't quite there yet, however. 

\- 0 - 0 -

Kuroko lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling. The lights were off and the curtains drawn shut. A small amount of moonlight filtered between the fabric, laying a blanched stripe of colour across his face. 

"They really tried today, didn't they?" said Kyuubei. "They didn't compete with each other for the most points, and they gave the opposing team all the proper respect. But the result wasn't good--even your coach regrets telling them to play seriously." 

Kuroko turned over, away from Kyuubei. 

"Meikou won their game too," Kyuubei said, "as I'm sure you know. Your friend did very well. He's built a solid team, with amazing teamwork." 

Kuroko pulled his blanket over his head. 

"They'll continue to win, according to the projections." Kyuubei very carefully did not mention whose projections. He did not want Kuroko to talk to Momoi. "In fact, there's a very good chance your friend will be meeting you in the finals. It couldn't be a better end to his high school basketball career." 

Kuroko said nothing, did nothing. 

Kyuubei hummed, as if deep in thought. "I wonder what he'll think of Teikou, and Teikou's basketball." 

He waited a moment, but he might as well have been talking to a corpse. The body in the bed hardly seemed to draw breath, hardly seemed to exist at all, as invisible to the world as a witch in its prison. 

It was time. 

"If you want to give your friend a good game," Kyuubei said gently, "one that won't crush his spirit, you could wish for it." 

There was no sound from the bed, but Kyuubei was quite sure the child was crying. 

"Please consider it, for both your sakes." 

He gave one last flick of his tail, then leapt through the window—confident now that the seed itself was rotted to its core, and only a wish could cure it.  


	10. Kuroko III

Kuroko would need some time to dwell on his own misfortunes, so Kyuubei went to observe the Generation of Miracles this night, possibly their last night of humanity.

Aomine was the first.

Kyuubei peered down at the boy tossing restlessly in his bed, and was pleased at the state of Aomine’s soul gem: near to black now, darker than all the rest. The energy was twisting about inside its crystal prison, ready to burst forth, to transform its owner into--

Into what, exactly? Kyuubei honestly didn't know. He was very curious about what would happen during the finals. Would Aomine turn into a true monster tomorrow, on the court, in front of a national audience? Would he go on to kill and eat everyone in the stadium? What would the viewers at home think?

Aomine, still asleep, threw an arm over his head and muttered something unintelligible. His soul gem grew a shade darker, just like that. Ah, the destructive power of human emotions.

Kyuubei visited the other Miracles in turn, tracing the threads of their curses--Midorima's unfortunate luck, Kise's need to follow, Murasasakibara's sheer enormity, Akashi’s unrelenting drive for victory--and saw, without surprise, the many ways the threads tangled together, knotted and gnarled and spider-webbed. Seeing this, Kyuubei was contented with his net, for even if he would never understand humans and their strange, illogical desires, he would always be able to use them. 

Speaking of which, Kuroko ought to be done deciding on his wish by now. 

Kyuubei headed back. 

\- 0 - 0 -

Kuroko was staring at this cell phone again. 

It was not Ogiwara Shigehiro's name on the screen this time. It was the name of a Miracle-in-waiting, a person like Kuroko himself. 

Kuroko pressed the call button and waited, fifteen rings, until he was answered.  

"I apologize for waking you at this late hour, Momoi-san." 

Momoi said something in reply. 

"This is going to sound strange...I apologize in advance if I seem too forward..." Kuroko moved the phone away from his ear for the next several seconds. "No, I'm not asking you out. Really, I'm not. Momoi-san…if, if, you could have any wish, any wish at all, but you knew it would probably come at a terrible price," Kuroko took a sharp, shuddering breath, "what would you wish for?" 

Kyuubei waited for Momoi's reply. 

Eventually, Kuroko said, "I see." 

Kyuubei waited some more. 

"It was just a hypothetical question." Kuroko's eyes were hooded, unreadable. "Thank you, Momoi-san. It'll be fine. Everything will be fine."

Kyuubei waited again for Momoi to speak, for the last time. 

"Yes, you too. Good night." 

Kuroko ended the call _._

"Have you decided?" Kyuubei said, making himself visible. 

"I have."

Kyuubei settled on a bookshelf and rubbed a paw over his head. Letting Kuroko talk to Momoi had turned out to be a good idea. "Are you going to use the wish Momoi Satsuki suggested?" 

"...No," said Kuroko. "I know it's impossible to return to the past. Only terrible misfortune can result for those who try." He paused thoughtfully. “I feel like I’ve seen an anime like that, come to think of it.”

"Is that so?" Kyuubei thought it was probably true. “But to travel back in time would be a powerful wish. Are you sure you don't want to make that wish, for the both of you? Momoi is practically a Miracle herself, you know." 

"She's given me a better idea," Kuroko said, voice still quiet but firmer now, the conviction of a child who believed in the truths he'd conjured. "Before, I had thought to make a wish only for myself, so that I could play Ogiwara-kun the way I wanted to. But now I know I can't be…such a coward."

"You're going to make a more powerful wish," said Kyuubei, tail flicking at the prospect. 

Kuroko nodded. "Momoi-san helped me remember my basketball. And that's why," said the phantom sixth, voice trembling only slightly, “my wish is for a light…a light to save the Generation of Miracles from the doom of victory.” 

And Kyuubei, eyes wide, granted it. 

\- 0 - 0 - 

A warm yellow glow bathed Kuroko, who sank further into the shadows, his clothes melting into purest, deepest black. No child of wishes had ever worn such magic before.

For this child had asked for light itself…

…but how could he, with a soul so wrapped in shadows?


	11. Kuroko IV

Dawn dawned, and with it realization dawned as well.

Kyuubei watched Kuroko Tetsuya move out of his bed very, very slowly.

“What…” he muttered, hands rubbing at his eyes. His curtains shifted a little, and a streak of sunlight blasted him right in the face. He winced.

“Good morning,” said Kyuubei. “The morning after always feels strange.”

Kuroko stared back, pale-faced and shadow-eyed. Last night’s conviction had been but the work of the moment--the magic of the moonlit hours, and the warmth in Momoi’s voice. Despair didn’t dissipate so easily, no matter that day had come.

“Don’t worry,” Kyuubei reassured him. “You’ll get used to that soulless feeling after a while.”

Kuroko’s face froze in a mask of gloomy understanding.

He went to brush his teeth and had to let his face unfreeze a little, if only so he could use his toothbrush.

“Kuroko, I wish you wouldn’t stare at your eggs like that,” Kuroko’s mother chided, a little later.

Kuroko continued to stare at his eggs, face re-frozen.

“And stop looking so fish-eyed--didn’t you get enough sleep last night?”

Kuroko gave her a frozen, haunted look. “No.”

On the one hand, Kyuubei was highly pleased: Kuroko’s soul gem, a dark blot on the palm of his right hand, proved even darker than Aomine’s. It roiled with pain and frustration and probably clinical depression as Kuroko continued to stare at his hardboiled eggs, as if those little white ovoids held the secrets of this cruel, benighted universe.

On the other hand…

“Today is the last day of the tournament, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” A faint hint of life appeared in the deadened blues of Kuroko’s eyes. “It ends today, one way or another.”

“Oh good. You’re out of clean jerseys, you know.”

“I know,” Kuroko whispered.

On the other hand, the child had found hope, where before there had been none.

 _A light to save the_ _Generation of Miracles from the doom of victory_. What did that even mean? And of course there was another problem…

“Well, eat up,” said Mrs. Kuroko. “You won’t win today on an empty stomach.”

“I can’t imagine Akashi-kun will let us lose,” Kuroko said quietly, finally picking up his fork.

…The other problem being _Akashi’s_ wish.

“These are good tomatoes,” said Kuroko.

“Why, thank you. Glad to see you come out of your weird little shell.”

“However, the eggs are somewhat overcooked.”

“You can get back in your shell now.”

Kuroko hung his head. “Okay.”

Kyuubei left the humans to their breakfast.

\- 0 - 0 -

It wasn't the first time in human history that two wishes had clashed, of course.

Both wishes would come true, that much Kyuubei knew: through some odd twist of logic, a loophole in the wording of the two requests (human language was so  _vague_ ), Akashi would win and Kuroko would also make Akashi lose.

Kyuubei could only try to predict the outcome. 

Scenario 1:

Kuroko: Ogiwara. You are my light.

Ogiwara: Huh?

Kuroko: I will join your team.

Ogiwara: Is that allowed?

(they win the tournament)

(beating even the Generation of Miracles)

Midorima: Oha Asa did not predict this.

Murasakibara: Such a bother.

Kise: I don’t even know what is happening here.

Aomine: Kurokooooo.

(thereby saving them from the doom of victory)

Akashi: No.

(until Akashi points out to the officials that Kuroko is not actually a member of Meikou Middle School, much less the Meikou Middle School basketball team, thereby disqualifying Meikou from the tournament and granting Teikou the win by default)

(Kyuubei collects only a little despair-related energy)

(no one is particularly happy, particularly basketball fans, but the terms of the wishes are fulfilled)

Scenario 2

Kuroko: Ah, the utter bleak vacuumous darkness of despair that is middle school basketball. I love it but I hate it. To be, or not to be.

(turns into giant monster made of light)

(kills everyone in stadium)

(including the Generation of Miracles)

Midorima: Oha Asa did not predict this.

Murasakibara: Such a bother.

Kise: I don’t even know what is happening here.

Aomine: Kurokooooo.

(thereby saving them from the doom of victory)

Akashi: No.

(but Akashi comes back from clinical “death,” turns into yet another giant monster, kills Kuroko, and scores the final, winning basket of the game (which everyone had forgotten about), thereby fufilling the conditions of  _his_ wish, before going on to slowly and painfully destroy the world)

(Kyuubei collects a  _lot_ of despair-related energy)

(everyone is happy)

\- 0 - 0 -

Hm. Some scenarios were certainly preferable over others.

At any rate, Kuroko was right about one thing: the finals would be the end, one way or another.

\- 0 - 0 -

But first Teikou had to get through the semi-finals.

“This is going to be so difficult,” Kise sighed theatrically.

Aomine casually tossed a ball underhanded. It plunked neatly through the net. “Right.”

“Mine-chin and I aren’t even starting. We probably won’t play. Do we really need to warm up?” Murasakibara hunched over like a giant, gangly gargoyle, his hands on a chip bag rather than a basketball. No one thought this was strange.

At the half court line, Midorima muttered to himself as he made shot after shot after desultory shot.

"You seem very keen to play against those twins." Akashi spoke to Kuroko for the first time in a long time, barely looking at him. “I suppose you want to take revenge for last year." 

"Not for us," Kuroko replied, so quietly anyone but Akashi would have missed it. 

But Akashi did not reply. A senior official was signalling; the opening greetings were about to begin. Akashi moved forward into the centre court, his court, and took his place at the head of the team lineup. After a moment, Kuroko stepped into his spot much further down the line, a presence barely there--as Akashi had made him.

The exchange gave Kyuubei an idea. It was risky, but the possible payoff in despair-related energy…

 _Kuroko? Can you hear me?_ Kyuubei said mind-to-mind, so only Kuroko could hear.  _Sorry to bother you. I just want to give you some advice._

Kuroko seemed not to be listening. 

 _You made a wish to save the Generation of Miracles,_ Kyuubei reminded him, _but it seems to me you don’t have the resolve to carry your wish through._  

Teikou bowed to Kamata West: Akashi’s movements light and graceful, the others following with rather less elegance. Kuroko bent like a wooden doll. 

_I'm a bit worried about you, to tell you the truth. You see, Akashi Seijuurou made a very powerful wish, one he truly believes in. A wish in direct opposition to yours._

Akashi stepped forward and shook hands with the captain of Kamata West. 

_In a sense, your wish made him your enemy. How are you going to defeat him, Kuroko? How are you going to save him, when you don’t believe as strongly as he does?_

The teams dispersed, only the starters remaining on the court. Kuroko was slow to move into his position for the jump ball, on the opposite wing from Akashi. 

_The idea of saving someone is rather presumptuous anyway, isn't it? It's like saying a person is so weak they can't save themselves._

The ball flew up, and the centres battled; the ball came to Kuroko, who caught it and passed it, robotically, to Akashi.

_Your captain is not weak._

Akashi slipped past his defender, dribbled deftly past another, and, instead of passing to Midorima, who was open, laid the ball in himself. 

_How are you going to save someone who doesn't want your help?_

Kuroko jogged back onto defense, as he'd been trained to do.

_Why would you?_

_Please stop_ , Kuroko pleaded.  _I'm trying to play basketball._

Kyuubei hummed thoughtfully. _I’m helping you do just that. I want you to find your basketball, so you can save the Generation of Miracles from themselves. Or is that not what you really wanted?_

 _Please stop_ , Kuroko tried again.

_When you asked for a light, weren’t you just asking for someone else to do the work? You want Ogiwara Shigehiro to defeat the Generation of Miracles, don’t you? You want your own team to lose. And you want to absolve yourself of such a terrible responsibility._

_No,_ thought Kuroko.

 _Don’t worry about thinking such things_ , said Kyuubei. _I’m sure Akashi’s wish won’t let it happen._

This time, Kuroko did not respond.

But Kyuubei was not surprised when, in the fourth quarter, with the score at 89-45 for Teikou, and the entire Generation of Miracles resting on the bench, Kuroko was somehow too tired and distracted to avoid the elbow aimed at his head. 

Now, Kyuubei mused, as Kuroko was carted off to the locker rooms, what would happen on this court of wishes?

\- 0 - 0 -

Following Kuroko's collapse, the Generation of Miracles did something truly terrible to the terrible twins of Kamata West, who were never again to play basketball after this day.

(Kuroko, though, was not awake to see, nor stop, his teammates' cruel sense of justice.)

Nor did he witness the conversation between Akashi Seijuurou and Ogiwara Shigehiro—the latter of whom was also never to play basketball again after this day, if Akashi had anything to say about it.

"There are things more important than winning and losing, right?" said Ogiwara to Akashi. 

(Thank goodness Kuroko, who was right there, sleeping, heard not a thing.)

"Without victory," said Akashi, "your words are nothing but petty sentiment." 

(Thank goodness Akashi was too rational to listen to Ogiwara.) 

Then Teikou and Meikou played their fated match, as Kuroko slept on.

"Come on, man," said Aomine. "I let you through, so the least you could do is actually make it." 

(Thank goodness the less logical members of the Generation of Miracles didn't know Ogiwara at all, and so had no compunctions about utterly destroying his spirit.) 

"Akashi-kun...why?" 

(And thank goodness Kuroko woke just in time to see the real meaning of victory, as Akashi Seijuurou would have it.) 

\- 0 - 0 - 

Kuroko watched, helplessly, as his elementary school friend walked away from basketball, perhaps forever. 

On the scoreboard, the numbers 111-11 glowed luridly.  

\- 0 - 0 -

Kyuubei saw that despairing face, those eyes deadened with pain, a black, black soul gem, and he waited, ears perked with eager anticipation, waited for—

Nothing.

Nothing was happening.  

The heart of Teikou’s sixth man, the heart of a team that used to be a team, was breaking, but no monsters came of it.

Kuroko walked out of the gym still human, and the Generation of Miracles followed. 


	12. Akashi II

_Looks like your wish didn't come true_ , Kyuubei said to Kuroko the next day. _I’m sorry about that. It happens, sometimes, when wishes contradict each other. A delay in the fulfillment--_

"Shut up," Kuroko whispered, his words swallowed up by the bemused mutterings of the Teikou benchwarmers. No one was practicing; it seemed the players had come today only in order to be confused together about their victory at Nationals.

Inwardly, Kyuubei was puzzled too—no one had transformed into a monster on court, no doom of victory had been overturned—but perhaps he only had to wait a little longer. Surely Kuroko, after seeing that particularly well-articulated look of anguish on Ogiwara’s face, would transform into a monster of despair by and by.

 _You should talk to your captain,_ Kyuubei said _. Ask him why he said he would play seriously against your friend and then broke his promise. Ask, and maybe then you’ll understand his way of thinking._

Kyuubei only made the suggestion because he knew Kuroko wanted desperately to talk to Akashi anyway, and Kuroko would hate doing anything Kyuubei said. 

Head hanging low, Kuroko trudged his way to his fellow Miracles, sat down in the saddest-looking steel folding chair he could find, and asked Akashi _why_. 

"The results would have been the same no matter what," Akashi said plainly.

And then Akashi explained that Kuroko was a hypocrite for wanting special treatment for his friend.

And then the rest of the Generation of Miracles came over and agreed with Akashi and made Kuroko feel even worse.

And then Kuroko told them, voice hoarse with tears, that he was going to quit basketball.  

And Kyuubei, for his part, was more confused than ever.

\- 0 - 0 -

Kuroko went home.

Kyuubei watched the boy curl up into a ball to weep pitifully in his bed for a few hours. 

It gave Kyuubei time to think the problem over.

The essential problem, he decided, at the entropic level, was that Kuroko's wish had not yet been fulfilled. Kuroko had not yet been given his miracle, so he could not yet pay the price for it. Energy could not be extracted without energy invested.

But that did not explain why none of Kyuubei’s predicted outcomes had come to pass. Was it misdirection, somehow? Did Kuroko have to do _everything_ in the most roundabout way possible?

If only Kuroko had simply wished for something simple, like Akashi’s death, or for Aomine to stop skipping practice. But instead, he had wished for something beyond comprehension…

_…a light to save the Generation of Miracles from the doom of victory._

Kyuubei left Kuroko’s bedside and went to visit his Miracles once more.

\- 0 - 0 -

They were restlessly asleep, soul gems roiling with discontent. The usual.

All of them except--and Kyuubei was shocked to see it--Akashi, who lay with his eyes open, the dull red and the blazing gold wary, watchful, still. 

"I knew you would come," Akashi said, sitting up and staring unerringly at Kyuubei, though Kyuubei had not made himself visible. "I knew you were here last night as well." 

"You're very observant," said Kyuubei, as he'd said before. 

“Too observant,” said Akashi again, warily now.

Kyuubei saw a soul gem as clouded as a stormy night, as clear as light through a prism. If Kyuubei could have a headache right now, he would have one.

“Akashi,” said Kyuubei, “do you truly want victory in everything you do?”

Akashi’s golden eye glittered demonically. “Why would I have wished for it otherwise?”

“Why indeed,” said Kyuubei, thinking of the man sleeping in the master bedroom of this estate. “Akashi, I need to tell you something. Kuroko made a wish that directly opposes yours.”

“I know,” said Akashi, but for all his certainty he seemed very young. And pompous, very pompous. “I have foreseen all possibilities, and this is the only one that makes sense. Betrayal.”

Kyuubei was rather impressed that Akashi had come to that conclusion.

“You could put it that way,” Kyuubei said. “Do you truly trust your friend so little?”

Akashi tilted his head to the side, oddly Kyuubei-like. “Friend? When have I ever called Tetsuya a friend?”

“I have a feeling that friendship isn’t a concept that matters to you.”

Akashi nodded. “I don’t need friends. I want enemies. Tetsuya, as he is now, would not be a worthy one. I’ve already told him that a vague ideal is powerless. If he wishes to find a strength to fight my own…” Akashi smiled a strange half-smile, “…I would welcome his challenge. It would, at the very least, not bore me.”

Kyuubei held himself still and did not show his unease. Akashi had not talked about crushing his enemies at all in that little speech. “Surely Kuroko will never be able to defeat you. How could that be called a challenge? He isn’t even that strong a player by himself.”

“Indeed,” Akashi said, smile dissipating. “I always win. The Generation of Miracles, including Tetsuya, will fall before me. I have foreseen it. Good night, creature. Do not come here again.”

Kyuubei hopped from the windowsill, disturbed, leaping from space to interstitial space with none of his usual, formless grace. Akashi would welcome a challenge from Kuroko, indeed from any of his Miracles. The Generation of Miracles would fall, Akashi predicted, yet Akashi himself was a member of the Generation of Miracles. There were two Akashi Seijuurous, Midorima had said, and for one of them, the secret meaning of victory was defeat.

If only Kuroko had not made that wish, Kyuubei thought grimly. If not for that wish, the doom of Akashi’s wish would have been carried out in a simple, literal, despair-laden way. Now, because Kuroko’s wish had created an opposite trajectory of energy, it was likely that Akashi would eventually lose, yet symbolically win, in some complicated, figurative, un-despair-laden way.

And Kyuubei had to let it happen, or risk creating a universe-destroying paradox. He was definitely not allowed to let that kind of thing happen.

Kyuubei leaped back into the physical world, and found himself at the front gates of Teikou Middle School.

“You,” said Kuroko, appearing out of nowhere.

The boy shuffled forward, zombie-like, to push open the gates with his fingertips, every languid motion reeking of despair. Shadows clawed at the boy’s feet, threatening to drag him into the depths of his own psychological hell. His soul gem was blacker than this starless night, colder than the howling winds, fouler than the foul shots he always missed. It was delightful, this magic, this energy, this hopeless march toward a doom that, Kyuubei reminded himself, would not actually manifest itself under current conditions.

Perhaps, Kyuubei decided grimly, it was time to take Kuroko’s miracle into his own paws.

“Wait,” he said. “I know someone else who is awake right now.”

\- 0 - 0 -

When Kyuubei came back with Akashi, Kuroko was in the third string gym, sitting alone on the cold floor in the endless dark.

Akashi immediately turned on the lights.

“I’m disappointed, Tetsuya.” Akashi looked around, without interest. “Here we are again, in the place we met. You need to look forward, not backward. You need to forget the basketball you thought you knew. Remake yourself into a worthy opponent.”

“Transform,” Kuroko spoke in a low voice.

"Yes. Exactly."

"No, I mean  _transform_. Magically." Kuroko slowly got to his feet, "Transform, and show me your basketball.”

Akashi turned to face Kuroko head on. “I’m not sure why I need to transform to show you that. I will defeat you as I am.”

“As you wish.”

The lights flickered once, then died.

A silhouette not quite human, not quite monster--a shade of black blacker than the dark--made a gesture in the air, and Kyuubei saw (Kyuubei had night vision) long tendrils of shadow coalescing in its hands, a swirl of dark matter pulling at the fabric of reality itself to form into the most perfect basketball that ever was, a sphere of rubberized negative energy that defied not only gravity and friction and any and all logic, ever, but also official middle school regulations. Never mind that. It was beautiful beyond beauty. It was the basketball which Kuroko had made.

Kuroko threw the non-regulation ball at Akashi’s head.

Akashi moved his head an inch to the right.

The ball sailed past him, toward the distant hoop.

It airballed.

Akashi’s left eye gleamed in the darkness. “You still have much to learn. Particularly basic shooting skills.”

But Kuroko was already moving for the ball, impossibly fast, shadow streaming behind him like an anti-rainbow of negative energy. One step, another step--he was under the hoop, ball in his hands, and he was leaping for the layup, sneakered feet seeming almost to fly upon the thickened air--

From thin air, Akashi appeared above him.

“Know your place.”

In his hands was a pair of gleaming scissors.

 _Bang_.

The black basketball of despair exploded in a puff of smoke.

Akashi touched down, lightly, while Kuroko tumbled to the floor, gasping and clutching his right hand, where the scissors had stabbed through his palm, barely missing his soul gem.

“It’s so easy to see through you, Tetsuya. You have no light to hide behind.”

Kuroko clutched his punctured hand.

“Do you understand now?” said Akashi, gazing down at the boy he had chosen to be his sixth man. “This is my basketball. My victory is absolute.”

Kuroko’s breath came laboured, but he could speak. 

“Victory. What does that word mean to you?”

For a moment, Akashi did not reply. Some distant thought flickered across his face, unreadable and unreachable, ephemeral as a father’s love--before disappearing entirely.

Akashi smiled. Small and sly at first, a kitsune smile, but soon it swelled into a full-on maniacal grin.

(Maybe, Kyuubei calculated, it would be Akashi who turned into a monster first, not Kuroko.)

“Victory? It’s very simple, in basketball. The team with the most points is declared the winner. Anything beyond that is irrelevant.”

“You’re wrong,” Kuroko said, panting heavily. “The way you win matters.”

Akashi pointed his scissors downward, toward Kuroko’s throat. “Only the weak need such platitudes. I cannot tolerate such weakness in one of my subordinates.”

Kuroko gazed at the wicked blades and seemed to understand for the first time--Akashi would kill him. Akashi did not bluff. Akashi was absolute.

With nary a breath of wind to mark his passage, Kuroko got up and totally scurried away with no dignity whatsoever.

But…as he scurried, once again he began gathering the darkness in his hands.

Akashi chuckled.

“You have no idea of the difference in our strength. Let me educate you." 

He raised his hand. "Basketball Emperor Power." 

Instantly the gymnasium was flooded with golden light.

Kuroko stumbled, flinging his hands over his eyes. Now his magical boy outfit was revealed—a simple pitch black shifting multi-dimensional leotard sewn of mist and shadows and completely devoid of decoration. It sparkled not at all.

Akashi sparkled.

He also spun, swirled, and stretched his limbs suggestively. Red and gold sparks issued from his eyes. Fluffy tulle wrapped itself around his pale slender waist, barely covering the tops of his pale slender thighs. Golden lamé Asics with high-impact gel cushioning slipped onto his kingly feet. A glittering jewelled crown plopped onto his head. Finally, the pair of scissors in his hands lengthened and thickened until it was no longer a mere office tool but a sword, a special double-bladed split sword with a swivelling double-looped handle. Or maybe it was just a giant pair of scissors.

 _Shwing!_ Akashi posed with his giant pair of scissors in front of an equally giant pair of glowing heterochromatic eyes that conveniently appeared behind him in a fearsome tableau of light and not-at-all-tacky colours. As usual, he was lovely and terrible as dawn and sunset all at once, and Kuroko could not help but stare at the whole five-minute long transformation sequence and final glamour shot even though the light really really hurt his eyes.

“Now,” proclaimed the Emperor of Miracles, “bow down and know defeat.”


	13. Kyuubei

Once upon another existence, or so Kyuubei had heard, there had been a world where magical girls turned into witches.

This only happened after the girls were subjected to terrible physical, psychological, and emotional abuse, of course.

By undergoing this agonizing change into witchhood, the magical girls produced a great deal of energy, which, if husbanded and utilized correctly, would help stave off the eventual heat death of the entire universe.

This must have been a highly favourable situation for everyone.

But then the world had changed, according to Kyuubei’s source. The world had changed, without anyone knowing, into the world Kyuubei knew: a place where magical girls never turned into witches, where energy collection was slow and piecemeal, where the universe would surely die a slow entropic death if nothing were done—a rather less favourable situation for everyone.

Kyuubei, when he was made aware that the world had changed, made a formal request to his organization to rewrite the laws of existence and make the witches come back.

They would work on it, they said.

In the meantime, could Kyuubei not devise some other method to create witches? If traumatized magical girls were no longer capable of making the transition into witchhood, they reasoned…

Well, what about traumatized magical _boys_?

He would work on it, Kyuubei said.

\- 0 - 0 -

Something oily and black was dripping from Kuroko’s eyes.

“Akashi-kun…” said Kuroko, words nearly lost to him. “You don’t…”

Kyuubei wondered if this was what a witch looked like.

But Kuroko, utterly beaten, down on his hands and knees, finally found his words. He looked up at Akashi. “You don’t care about basketball anymore…do you?”

Kyuubei tilted his head to the side.

Akashi brought the shining tip of the scissor-sword to Kuroko’s neck; blood trickled in a black line down that pale throat. “What does caring matter?”

Kyuubei thought this was an admirably logical question.

“It matters,” Kuroko whispered.

Kyuubei thought this was an admirably illogical position.

\- 0 - 0 -

What was important enough to a human boy that he would gladly lose his soul to it?

Kyuubei understood, without really understanding, that illogic was required to reverse the march of entropy. Only human emotions at their most extreme—reckless loves, irrational hates, animal fears—were ridiculous enough to upend the laws of physics.

But boys, he had observed over the relatively short span of human existence, were not easily made to emote. Boys were callous little beasts, and the invention of video games and Ritalin had not improved their dispositions in any way.

Then, one day, Kyuubei came across a middle school croquet team screaming and crying and hugging each other after a close loss.

How odd, thought Kyuubei, as the croquet players vowed to never lose again. To win, they would run until they fainted, drink protein shakes until they puked, swing mallets until their hands bled. And they would, of course, have no time for homework from now on.

Kyuubei couldn’t help but wonder: was it truly necessary for boys aged twelve to fifteen to faint, puke and bleed for sport? Was winning a national championship at the middle school level important enough to sacrifice academic careers, work prospects, health?

Of course it was. 

It was perfect.

And that was how Kyuubei ended up at Teikou Junior High.

\- 0 - 0 -

“I suppose I cared at one point.”

Akashi put on a contemplative look.

“Yes, I suppose I cared about Teikou’s victories. It would have been troublesome if we had lost.” His expression darkened. “But the Nationals are over,” he slowly opened the scissors, scraping the blades lightly against Kuroko’s skin, “and we are done with each other.”

The open blades moved forward, until they were on either side of Kuroko’s neck.

Kuroko closed his eyes. Black tears squeezed out from the edges. “I don’t mean do you care about Teikou. I don’t mean do you care about victory. I mean…do you care about _basketball_?”

Akashi’s eyes narrowed. “Are you going to be boring again, Tetsuya? I tire of your speeches.”

The gap between the blades narrowed.

Kuroko’s breath quickened at the sharp metal hiss, but his eyes did not open. “I asked you a simple question. Do you like basketball?”

Something ugly was building behind Akashi’s expression. “Your friend from Meikou asked me the same thing, you know.”

At this, Kuroko could not immediately answer. His right hand spasmed. His soul gem flickered dimly. “What…what did you say to him?”

“The truth,” said Akashi.

\- 0 - 0 -

At Teikou, Kyuubei found a profoundly logical illogicality: _One hundred battles, one hundred victories._

Akashi--the second one--was the logical extreme of that illogicality.

Kyuubei had to admit, out of all the Miracles he'd created at Teikou, he liked Akashi Seijuurou the best--from a purely objective standpoint, mind you.

Akashi stripped the excesses from Teikou's basketball--the cloying sentimentality, the platitudes about teamwork, the fistbumps--and boiled it down to the essentials of the game, which was to score more points than the enemy, and thereby win.

But of course Akashi was human, too.

 _There are two Akashi Seijuurous_ , Midorima had said.

Kyuubei wanted one of those Akashi Seijuurous to stay silent.

Fortunately, the other Akashi Seijuurou really liked talking.

\- 0 - 0 -

“I told your friend,” Akashi said, “enjoyment is irrelevant. Only victory matters.”

Kuroko’s soul gem flickered feebly on its blackened palm.

“And I made sure he understood that, by the end of our match.”

Something bubbled under its glassy surface--air, despair, something foul not fair.

“But I suppose I had fun,” Akashi admitted, lips curved in a gentle sneer. “Not that it matters.”

Kyuubei stared at Kuroko’s soul, waiting, waiting…

Kuroko’s eyes snapped open. “You lied to me.”

“You lied to yourself,” said Akashi.

Despite the blades threatening his neck, Kuroko moved his head around wildly, searchingly; black lacerations appeared on his throat, dangerously close to his vital blood vessels. Kuroko didn’t seem to notice.

“It’s all lies, he hissed. 

Kyuubei wasn’t sure Kuroko was talking to Akashi anymore.

“Basketball, Teikou, promises…lies. I was supposed to have a miracle.” The black tear-tracks running down his cheeks made him look like a demented clown. “Where is my miracle? Where is my light?”

Kuroko strained forward, skin parting for the metal at his throat...

Akashi’s smile faltered ever so slightly. 

“You’ll die,” he warned. “I won’t even have to kill you.”

Kuroko didn’t hear Akashi’s voice. “I want my wish!” he cried out, or maybe just cried. “You promised! Give me my light!”

And though Kyuubei was not the one who gave it…

…there was light.

\- 0 - 0 -

Kyuubei had to admit, out of all the Miracles he'd created at Teikou, he liked Kuroko Tetsuya the least--from a purely objective standpoint, mind you.

Kuroko Tetsuya defied all logic--his basketball philosophy, his strange abilities, and most of all his foolish, powerfully foolish wish.

If Kyuubei could have a wish, he’d wish Kuroko could be logical, just for a little while.

But Kyuubei, for all his power of miracles, could not perform a miracle for himself.

He could only give them to idiotic little children, like these ones. 

\- 0 - 0 -

The gym doors flew open.

Aomine Daiki stood framed against the moonlight, arms outstretched as if in benediction, though the effect was rather ruined by his tank top and striped pyjama pants. Still--his hair shone, his eyes shone, _he_ shone, a blue flame against the darkness, the hottest fire there was.

The super hot fire spoke.

“Oi, Tetsu. The hell is going on in here?”


	14. Aomine II

“Aomine-kun.”

Kuroko gazed up at his former partner in basketball with huge, googly eyes.

“Are you…”

Aomine strode forward; the doors banged shut behind him with a clang.

“You guys are way too noisy,” he complained.

Kuroko and Akashi watched him in his striding. The two were eerily alike for all that Kuroko was wreathed in sinuous black smoke and sporting black tear tracks down his face, while Akashi was wearing a shimmering tutu and threatening decapitation with a giant pair of scissors.

Both of them looked totally insane.

Also dripping with despair, but mostly insane.

“I could hear you all the way from my place.” Aomine’s voice echoed loud in the empty gym. “I can’t believe you’re getting up to this kind of shit at three in the morning.”

He grinned. “Without me, I mean.”

Akashi’s hands did not waver at all, even though he’d been holding up the scissor-sword for like fifteen minutes by now. “This is none of your business, Daiki. Leave.”

“Are you kidding? This is the most interesting thing that’s happened in a long time.”

“Do not test me. I can kill you too.”

“You can’t even kill Tetsu. Or you would have killed him by now.”

“Hm. _Point_ taken.”

Aomine’s eyes widened.

Akashi’s scissors widened too. And then they slammed shut.

Except Aomine took that half-second of time to yell “Basketball Bastard Power!” thus kickstarting his ten-minute transformation sequence, which involved a lot of toothy smiles and flashy fakes and improbable shots from behind a backboard he magically conjured up for the sake of showing off his skillz. The basketball itself, though, he just got from a bin.

Blue fires ignited in an oddly sulky manner around Aomine’s body as he dashed around the court, moving so fast the fires zipped by as lines of pure light in a manner strangely reminiscent of but completely opposite to Kuroko’s black speed lines. Actually he moved so fast the fires should probably have gone out, but they didn’t, because that would have been lame. 

At the end of this self-promotion sequence Aomine pointed at Akashi with a blue-gloved finger and announced, “The only one who can beat me is me!”

Then he shot forward, quick as wildfire, and kicked Akashi’s blades aside at the last possible moment.

Everyone in the gym decided to staunchly ignore the way Aomine’s actions compromised his shiny blue mini-skirt.

Kuroko seemed to disappear for a moment, eclipsed by Aomine’s flame (or perhaps by the mini-skirt); and then he was on his feet, far away from where he’d been a moment before. His eyes did not leave Aomine.

(This was it, thought Kyuubei. This was Kuroko’s light, his wish, his saviour. Soon, soon, there would be monsters here.)

But Aomine did not look at Kuroko.

“Good reaction speed,” Akashi said to them both, as if they’d executed an especially tricky give-and-go. “Next time, do it with more force.”

He still had the scissor-sword in hand. Aomine’s kick had not overcome Akashi’s love of sharp metal.

“We’ve never played each other one-on-one,” Aomine noted, grin turning feral. 

“I knew it would come to this,” Akashi said. “I had foreseen it.”

“Yeah, sure.” Aomine stretched his arms above his head. “Well, here’s a prediction for you. I’m going to win.”

Akashi smiled a secretive smile, as if he’d wished for absolute victory in all that he did or something ridiculous like that.

“Tetsuya. If you could provide the ball.”

Kuroko startled. He was still crazy-eyed, still draped in shadows and despair. “Aomine already has a ball.”

It was true.

“I want your ball.”

That was true too.

Kuroko looked at his former captain, then at his former light. “I…I don’t think I want you two to have it.”

“Eh? What ball?” Aomine asked. “Is this dirty talk or something?”

“Your basketball of shadows,” Akashi said smoothly. “Come, Tetsuya. You said you were quitting basketball. Give it to us--and have done with his game you claim to hate so much.”

Kuroko right hand clenched and unclenched. He winced at the pain of the scissor wound. “This is not what I wished for.”

Kyuubei stirred.

 _Isn’t it?_ Kyuubei thought at him. _I don’t really know what your wish was referring to, but your light is here. Surely salvation is at hand._

Kuroko stiffened at hearing Kyuubei’s voice. _How can this one-on-one save the Generation of Miracles? This game they want to play…it’s full of hate._

 _I don’t know_ , Kyuubei admitted. _But don’t you want to give them a chance?_

Akashi and Aomine were watching Kuroko closely. Their eyes--so often dead and cold these past months--were at least vaguely interested now.

That was the magic of magic. The magic of hope. 

Kuroko bowed his head, and created his basketball of sorrow once more.


	15. Miracles

But! Just as Kuroko wrenched his sphere of emotional horrors back into existence (while emitting a gasping cry of animal-like pain just for effect), the gym doors were yet again flung open from the outside, and a voice cried out, “Stop right there, in the name of--!”

The voice stopped to think for a moment.

“--in the name of getting a good night’s sleep! Yes, that’s exactly it! Because some of us work _and_ go to school _and_ participate in club activities all at the same time and need our beauty rest! Thus those evil-doers who would make too much noise at night shall be punished! By me!”

It was Kise.

Everyone, from Aomine to Akashi to the crying Kuroko to even Kyuubei decided, in unison, to ignore him.

And for good reason! One could not help but want to ignore Kise, who was, despite the hour, outfitted in an immaculate little number from the Ralph Lauren spring collection. His pants were freshly pressed, pinstriped and slate-grey. His shirt was starched and blindingly white. He had a tie on. His shoes were shoes and not house slippers. He strode into the gym, fuming loudly about how everyone was just way too loud, the loud-mouths, in his loudly beautiful clothes.

Meanwhile, Kuroko was holding the ball out to the others, poised on the edge of the effervescent end, and Aomine and Akashi were summoning all sorts of magic sparkly shit in a threatening and highly manly way.

“Hey! Isn’t anyone listening to me?”

“Tetsu, just toss it already,” Aomine noted in a viciously bored voice--that is, his normal voice. “Can you see this magic sparkly shit? We’re ready for jump ball.”

“Wait,” said another voice.

The doors banged open again _again_ , incidentally hitting Kise in the butt, and in strode Midorima, glasses slightly askew. He was wearing pyjamas, neatly tucked in, and house slippers. In his bandaged left hand he carried his lucky item, a lovely green plastic wand topped with white angel wings that he’d bought off a little girl on the street.

“Can a man not be allowed to sleep his allotted and proper eight hours,” he said, but then the door exploded open again again _again_ , this time striking both Kise and Midorima in the buttocks, and of course it was Murasakibara, looking considerably grouchier, meaner, and more sleep-deprived than either Kise or Midorima. Also taller and more likely to casually murder someone.

“Noisy,” he said, eyes half-lidded.

And thus the whole dysfunctional gang was here.

Kyuubei gave a silent, satisfied little mew.

\- 0 − 0 -

“Akashi,” said Midorima, “what is going on here?”

Akashi’s face, smoothly impassive and also just plain smooth, betrayed none of his thoughts. “Exactly what it seems.”

“It looks like you are playing one-on-one in skirts with Aomine.” Then Midorima startled and looked at Kuroko. “You’re not wearing a skirt.”

“He’s not wearing much of anything,” said Kise

“We’re doing more than playing basketball,” said Akashi, ignoring Kise. “We are attempting to end this farce.”

“Farce?” Midorima’s eyebrows furrowed.

“A type of dramatic production,” Murasakibara supplied.

“I know _that_. What I don’t understand is Akashi’s metaphor.”

“What’s a metaphor?” said Aomine and Kise at the same time.

“The farce is the idea that we are a team,” Akashi cut in, before the stupider elements in the room could take over. “Now that Nationals are behind us, we no longer need pretend we are allies. I had thought to wait until high school to settle things, but perhaps,” and he sighed, a strange little hiss of breath, “perhaps it is better to simply end it here.”

“Yeah.” Aomine stretched his arms lazily. “I don’t want to wait for high school. We’ll have crappy teammates in the way and they’ll be whining about working together and shit. Let’s play now, right here.”

“No,” said Midorima. “You should not do this. Not in this place.”

Kuroko looked up from his contemplation of his black despair ball.

“Hah?” said Aomine. “Why the hell not?” He swung around to face Midorima in a swirl of sparkles. “More to the point, who are you to tell me what to do?”

Midorima sniffed; he looked over Aomine’s shoulder, at Akashi. “You set a rule: you told us that we are not to play each other while we are still at Teikou. I only thought I should say something to fulfill my duties as vice-captain, for whatever that’s worth.”

Akashi stared back. “And is your conscience assuaged?”

Midorima’s expression went carefully blank. “…I suppose it is.”

Kuroko looked down again.

Yet Midorima hesitated. He said, “…Akashi, what will you do afterward, if you win against Aomine? Will you play against each of us in turn, and try to defeat us all?”

Murasakibara snorted. “I already played Aka-chin once, and look how well that turned out. You sure you wanna do it, Mido-chin? Though we’ve all gotten a lot stronger since then. I could win now maybe.”

“I known my own strength,” Midorima said, chin turned up. “But regardless of who wins…I cannot counsel our playing against each other now. It would be but a moment’s excitement, at the cost of greater apathy afterward.”

“Yeah, it would make things more boring.” Mursakibara yawned. “I think it’s a bad idea too.”

“Also, Oha Asa said it was an unlucky day to play destined matches against one’s former friends. Aomine, why are you laughing?”

Aomine had covered his face with one hand and his shoulders were shaking. His laugh was not a nice one.

“Does the universe not want me to play this match? Am I just going to keep…going on like this forever? Why do you all have to be…”

Kise, for his part, gave Aomine a look of consternation; then he pursed his lips, pointed his hips, and forced a laugh. “By the way, Aominecchi, I love your new fashion choices! But don’t you think the skirt is kind of late eighties? That fabric!”

Aomine uncovered his face and narrowed his eyes, nakedly dangerous. “If you guys won’t let princess Akashi play, I’ll play you instead, Kise. For whatever that’s worth.”

“Oh, is that how it is?” Kise’s smile turned nasty. “We haven’t played in a long time, Aominecchi. Maybe I’m better than you now.”

“That’ll be the day.”

Akashi’s voice cut in, blade-like. “No, I will play. Tetsuya, the ball.”

Kuroko opened his mouth. Then he closed it, and opened it, and closed it.

“You imitation of a fish is admirable,” Akashi said, “but like I said, this farce is over. Give us the ball, Tetsuya. Do not fear. We are simply going to play a little game.”

Kuroko made his eyes large and fishlike too. He said nothing to Akashi, made no move forward or back. Merely stared into the void of Akashi’s gaze, the inescapable future written there…

“Just a one-on-one, you say?” Murasakibara said suddenly. His voice came out uncommonly clear from beneath those long, unkempt bangs. “To me it looks like Aka-chin and Mine-chin want to kill each other. Actually kill each other.”

Kise took in a quick breath.

Midorima tried to speak. “Kuroko, don’t--”

Akashi was smiling. “Tetsuya, do.”

And Kuroko, eyes wide, as if waking from a nightmare, seemed to disappear, a wisp of darkness dissolving in the light--but Akashi leaped forward so fast he might as well have disappeared too, and metal flashed, golden light flashed, Kuroko’s darkness was shredded like paper, all his shadow puppetry revealed for what it was--a mere farce, a pretending to power, because a farce is a type of dramatic production as Murasakibara explained earlier and so is shadow puppetry, so the metaphor worked, sort of. Anyway, it was bad. Really bad for Kuroko, who was rolling around and clutching his lacerated abdomen in agony, black mist dissipating around him, but then--

“Copy Basketball Power!”

“Fate Basketball Power!”

“Food Basketball Power…I guess.”

There was light…or even more of it, at any rate.

“I guess I can wait,” said Akashi, and settled in to watch the light show/peep show with some small measure of interest.

\- 0 − 0 -

Several minutes later and Aomine was bored. Not that Aomine being bored was unusual, but…

“I’m more bored than usual,” he said in a dangerous, bored voice. “Seriously, how long is this going to take?”

_Swirly twirly sparkly warkly whooshy fwooshy weeeeeeshy--_

“It takes longer when several people transform at once,” Akashi said. He was getting bored too, despite all the pretty colours. “We shall have to kill them later for wasting our time. For now, let us commence our one-on-one.”

Aomine stood up with a languid tiger’s grace. His grin was full of teeth, but his eyes were as dark as his soul gem. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

Akashi’s gaze turned distant. “I have seen the future. I will destroy you all sooner or later. It might as well be sooner.”

He looked pointedly at Kuroko and, more to the point, pointed his pointy scissors at Kuroko, and Kuroko got the point.

“…” said Kuroko, for that was all he could say.


	16. Miracles II

Green plastic stick thrust high above his head, Midorima did a stiff pirouette, face locked into an expression of distaste. 

His Akashi senses were tingling. 

This was nothing out of the ordinary, mind you, except that Midorima was busy transforming into a magical boy at the moment. 

He waved his left hand, and the bandages unravelled in a showy mess before re-wrapping themselves tight around his body, snakelike; the white cloth transformed into a frumpy pea green jacket and frumpy pea green skirt that ended at the knees. Pea green star glasses landed on his face. Pea green star earrings twinkled in his ears. He traced a star shape in the air with his green plastic stick and left the outline of it glittering greenly in the air behind him. He posed in front of it, awkwardly, greenly. 

God was disposing of Midorima in really embarrassing ways today. 

And while has wasting his time here, Akashi was no doubt being a supercilious jerk and killing everybody. 

Midorima tried not to care.

(He failed.) 

\- 0 - 0 -

Was the air itself on fire? Kyuubei wondered as Kuroko sweated and wheezed beside him. 

Aomine, grinning maniacally, held Kuroko’s despair ball at the top of the key, the top of the world. The air shimmered with magical heat, as if LeBron James himself were in attendance and hadn’t been traded away from the Miami Heat back to Cleveland. 

Aomine dribbled once, stepping forward almost laconically, and with his left hand slammed a wall of blue-white flames the height of the gym in Akashi’s general direction, clearly in order to set up some kind of screen play. 

Akashi’s eyes widened slightly as the enormous firewall bore down on him with all the flaming force of, well, an enormous firewall, perhaps one on virus patrol--but then he put on a smile psychotic enough to match Aomine’s, and with a with a wave of his giant scissors ( _whooosh_ ) cleared a perfect Akashi-sized path through the fire. With his next graceful gesture he stabbed Aomine--who had been following closely behind the fire, because that’s what you do in a screen play, even if the screen is made of fire--and upon puncturation of the shoulder there was a terrible fleshy sound and a vibrant spray of blood. It matched half of Akashi’s eyes and half his outfit. 

Aomine, for his part, grinned a blood-flecked grin and moved swiftly to protect the ball, dribbling it between his legs and into his left hand before Akashi could steal or stab or slice at someone, as he was wont to do. 

“You need to work on your defense, Daiki.” 

“Really?” Aomine gestured with his head at his shoulder, which was already covered in blue healing sparkles. “Who has the ball, Akashi?” 

Akashi’s eyes narrowed. 

“See, they don’t need team play anymore,” Kyuubei pointed out to Kuroko. “That was a marvellous one-man screen, wasn’t it?” 

Kuroko’s bottom lip quivered. He wished Aomine and Akashi wouldn’t bat around _his_ despair ball like that. 

\- 0 - 0 - 

Kise’s Aomine senses were tingling. 

This was nothing out of the ordinary, mind you, except that Kise was busy transforming into a magical boy at the moment. 

(He was also copying Midorima at the moment, but he didn’t know that.) 

(Except Midorima was not ready to twirl around and pose suggestively, and Kise most definitely _was_.) 

Yellow beams of sunlight flashed, Kise’s brilliant smile flashed, off-screen cameras flashed. Magical disembodied hands dressed him down and dressed him back up, despite the inconvenience of all his spinning around. Kise closed his eyes and let them. Fabulous fabrics flashed across his body, just long enough to tantalize. Eventually the invisible handlers settled on a glitzy yellow satin, but they still had to decide on the patterning… 

Much, much later, Kise posed before the flashing lights in a slinky mini-dress that was almost, but not quite, just like Aomine’s slinky mini-skirt. Strapped across his chest was a bandolier, very avant-garde, bearing a set of deadly yet fashionable zinc alloy combs imported from France. Kise ran one of the combs through his hair and pouted like he was born to do it, or like he was paid to do it as a part-time job. Man, who’d have thought being a magical boy was just like being a model? His pout faltered for a moment. He wondered what Aominecchi was doing. Probably being a supercilious jerk and killing everybody. 

Kise tried not to care.

(He failed.) 

\- 0 - 0 - 

More energy was being emitted than even Kyuubei knew what to do with. 

_Krakabooom!_

Akashi stood, one gloved hand dribbling imperiously, hair fluttering winsomely, multi-chromatic beams of destructive light pouring from multi-chromatic eyes. 

_Fwasshoooom!_

Aomine countered each of the beams effortlessly with flashes of blue fire, a blur of light himself, practically invisible but somehow blindingly bright, impossibly bright, a candle burning too strong too fast. 

_Chachachoooom!_

The only points of darkness were Kuroko’s despair ball and Kuroko himself. 

_Kamehamehaaaaa!_

“Can you even follow what’s going on?” Kyuubei asked the magical boy of shadows. “This is a pretty high level game.” 

Kuroko did not reply, too busy avoiding fiery explosions and aristocratic eye blasts to spare a moment for idle conversation. 

Meanwhile, Akashi waved his giant scissor-sword and all at once there were hundreds, thousands of tiny golden scissors in the air. Akashi spoke one word, “Kill,” and every single needle of death sped toward Aomine’s neck. 

At the same time he casually threw the basket toward the net. It looked like it was going to go in. 

Kuroko’s breath stopped. 

“Stop kidding around,” Aomine muttered, and the countless scissors burst into flame, metallic properties be damned--but continued on their deadly path, white-hot, through the wavering, breathless air, and for a moment, time seemed to stop, Aomine’s life looked likely to stop; then with the blades a bare inch away from his neck Aomine gave a bored sigh and the little scissors were immolated into nothingness. 

Aomine also swatted the ball away from the basket, and Akashi grabbed the rebound. 

Kuroko breathed. 

\- 0 - 0 - 

Murasakibara’s Pocky senses were tingling. 

This was nothing out of the ordinary, mind you, even if Murasakibara was busy transforming into a magical boy at the moment. 

Actually, the process Murasakibara was being subjected to at the moment could hardly be called mere transformation--it was metamorphosis, a remarkably lovely metamorphosis, such that would move a butterfly to jealousy. Or maybe it was more like baking. 

Step one: weave feathery sugar strands into a flowing, ever-shifting gown of gossamer white, transforming that slouching, gangly body into a thing of beauty and fragility and saccharine delight. Second: add half a drop of violet food colouring to the white and marble gently, so gently, to create subtle, hypnotizing, ever-shifting swirls. Third: coax tiny fondant lilacs to bloom directly in that pale, noodly hair. Fourth: apply delicate webs of white chocolate to high cheek bones, well-turned ankles, and other points of charm. Fifth: tear it all off and eat it, then put shorts and t-shirt back on. 

Murasakibara summoned a weaponized Pocky stick--his Pocky senses hadn’t stopped tingling--then took a bite off the top. Mmm, lavender. 

Idly, he wondered what Aka-chin was doing. Probably being a supercilious jerk and killing everybody. 

Murasakibara tried not to care.

(He succeeded…mostly.) 

\- 0 - 0 -

Meanwhile, crazy magical shit was getting on to epic magical shit. 

On one side of the gym, Aomine was trying to summon something that looked like a supernova. 

On the other side of the gym, Akashi’s emperor eye was engorging to ridiculous proportions, threatening to break the bounds of time and space and reality. 

“Hm,” Kyuubei purred, taking in the data around him. “I think the world might be ending. Do you know what the score is?” 

“Aomine-kun,” Kuroko shouted quietly. “Akashi-kun. Please, stop.” 

Oily black tears sparkled on the boy’s porcelain-pale cheeks. His voice was hoarse and low with pain. His despair ball was inflated with despair. 

Aomine and Akashi batted his despair around some more while flirting with the end of the world. 

“You guys are such jerks.” 

Kyuubei smiled, or rather kept smiling. “Akashi will win, don’t you think? His wish has to bear out. But what about you, Kuroko Tetsuya? Don’t you have to save them?”

“I…” Kuroko’s heart beat erratically, a low, harsh thrumming beneath the sounds of cosmic battle around them. 

On the court, Aomine was smiling, but he didn’t look like he was enjoying himself. “I’m going to beat you, Akashi. I’ve never lost before. Why should I lose now?” 

The gold of Akashi’s enormous emperor eye loomed like a terrible, empty sun. “I can see the future, Daiki. I see only victory. There are no paths that lead to my defeat. Ever.” There was something terribly empty in his voice. There was something terribly true about his words. 

Kuroko’s cuts throbbed. He could barely breathe in the hot, ashen air. He glanced at the other end of the gym, where Midorima and Kise and Murasakibara looked to be finishing up their transformations. But he saw no hope there either. The other Miracles would be the same. They had only ever known victory. “I can’t do anything by myself,” he gasped. “I’m just a shadow.” 

“I know that much by now,” said Kyuubei. “So where on earth is your wished-for light? You had better hurry up and find it, since it doesn’t look like this earth is going to last much longer.” Kuroko made a hopeless little boy noise and Kyuubei made a thoughtful little cat noise. “Actually, maybe it doesn’t matter. If the world blows up your wish will become moot. All the wishes will become moot.” 

A rather drastic way to avoid a paradox, Kyuubei thought. But he didn’t mind. Soon, soon, he would have all the energy he needed from this planet. Their soul gems were so powerful, so close… “Yes, it seems you won’t be getting your light today, Kuroko.” 

But at those words the boy’s eyes went wide, and his soul gem flared for a moment with dreadful hope. Kyuubei felt it and tried not to show his alarm. What could he--

“You’re right,” Kuroko said, glancing down at his right hand, where the cut from Akashi’s scissor-sword still bled freely, a gaping, unhealed wound a hair’s-breadth away from his soul gem. “I have to find my light somewhere else myself. _For_ myself. I’ve been waiting all this time for Aomine-kun to become my light again, or for Akashi to see the light.” 

Kyuubei flicked his tail with impatience; Aomine and Akashi’s final, world-destroying attacks continued to power up, and the earth itself trembled with fear. “Don’t you think it’s a bit late for epiphanies?” 

“Now I realize, that when I made my wish,” Kuroko drove on, determined, “ _a light to save the Generation of Miracles from the doom of victory_ \--I wished it for _me_ , not for them. I forgot for a while, just like everyone else always does--I’m one of the Generation of Miracles too.” He smiled a sad, secret little smile. “I’m the phantom sixth.” 

Kyuubei saw the look of understanding, of _light_ ,on Kuroko’s face, and said, “You can’t. There’s no time.” 

“Time?” said Kuroko. “Yes, that’s what we need. More time.” 

He took out his cell phone. 

\- 0 - 0 - 

Momoi’s Tetsu-kun senses were tingling. 

(They were always tingling, but right now they were tingling _more_.) 

Also, her cell phone was ringing. She didn’t need to see the screen to know who was calling. She had the ring tone programmed for that. 

Momoi Satsuki did not need to spin around, did not need to put on a flashy dress, did not need to shout weird words of magic to make her will be done. 

She stood up, thought, and disappeared. 


	17. Momoi

Kuroko Tetsuya, being the most extraordinarily ordinary person in the world, had once been the only person in the world able to sneak up on Kyuubei. 

Now that Kyuubei knew about misdirection, however, there was no one who could pull off such a feat. 

Which was why Kyuubei was very much confused when the metal doors of the gym clicked gently open and there, without, warning was Momoi Satsuki. A groggy, baggy-eyed Momoi, with bed hair and bed clothes under her teal hoodie. But undeniably her, and Kyuubei had not sensed her coming, not at all. 

“Dai-chan?” she said blearily. “What are you wearing?” 

Aomine, who’d been about to fling a supernova-powered basketball at Akashi’s face, took one look at her, stopped moving, and fumbled the ball maybe for the first time in his entire life. Somehow as the ball rolled on the ground it fizzled out instead of exploding into fiery death for all, but it was undeniably a fumble. “Ah, Satsuki. Hi.” 

Next Momoi turned her bleary red eyes on Akashi. “Akashi-kun? Are you…playing basketball with Dai-chan?” 

Akashi--whose giant eyeball had shrunk back to normal size and popped back into his head--mechanically picked up the loose ball that Aomine was totally not trying to recover. But Akashi looked unsure of himself, maybe for the first time in his life. He simply held the ball and did not bother converting the turnover into a basket, also maybe for the first time in his entire life. 

He stared at Momoi. 

Kuroko was staring too. Kise and Midorima, frozen in their post-transformation poses, were staring. Murasakibara took a bite of Pocky. 

“Is this a cosplay thing?” Momoi didn’t seem to notice the staring. “Did you guys dress up that poor cat?” She took a tentative step toward Kyuubei. “It’s awfully cute though.” 

Kyuubei did not dignify that with an answer. Actually the real reason he was not answering was that he was absolutely flabbergasted Momoi could not only see him but also thought he was just a regular cat. Actually, the _real_ real reason he was not answering was that he did not want Momoi to see him talking, because regular cats do not talk. 

Kuroko, uncharacteristically, was the first to find his voice. “How…” he cleared his throat, which was dry with yelling and crying, “how did you get here so quickly? How did you know where we were? You didn’t pick up your phone when I called...”

“I used GPS,” she said. “And I was already on my way. It was…noisy, and I couldn’t sleep.” A wrinkle appeared on her smooth, lovely brow. “No, not noisy exactly. It felt strange somehow…and you know how I am. If something is strange, I need to get data. Speaking of which.”

Momoi whipped out her cell phone and snapped a picture of Aomine. _Click_. 

“Your fan club will _love_ this.” 

Aomine rapidly got over his inability to do anything and started doing something. “Oh no you don’t,” he growled, moving toward her with all his magically enhanced swiftness, but nothing was as fast as a teenage girl’s fingers on a cell phone. Just before Aomine got to her she proclaimed, “Send!”, giving him a thumbs up for good measure. 

“Satsuki,” he growled again. 

“Don’t worry! They won’t post it anywhere your parents can see it. Maybe.” 

“Send me a copy,” Kise grinned, but as Momoi started to pivot in his direction he smothered his laugh and speedily transformed out of his mini-dress into normal clothes. Well, more normal clothes. Kise was contractually obliged to never dress like a normal person. 

Momoi pouted, even though she liked his clothes. “Ki-chan, you’re no fun either!” 

He put a hand on the back of his head. “Ah, I would let you take a photo,” he said, “but I do have contractual obligations… _so_ many contractual obligations. You wouldn’t believe how hard my job is.” He laughed nervously. 

“Oh, is that how you… kind of twirled around and sparkled a bit and then your clothes changed all of a sudden? It’s a model thing?”

“Sure, sure,” Kise laughed, more nervously now. “I was, you know, teaching everyone how to do it. Right, Midorimacchi?” 

Momoi started to swivel in Midorima’s direction, but he was already de-transforming. Now he was just a teenager in old-man pyjamas holding a cute green magical stick in his left hand. That was not even weird for Midorima. 

Murasakibara, meanwhile, was already in shorts and t-shirt. He was doing unintentionally suggestive things with his giant Pocky stick, but that was pretty normal too. 

Momoi turned to Akashi. “Akashi-kun, I’d like to take your picture too, if you don’t mind.” 

“I mind.” 

“Okay, never mind.” 

“What the hell?” Aomine complained. “You didn’t ask _me_ for permission. Akashi, tell her to--” 

But Akashi was already on his way out, skirt bouncing imperiously above his slender legs. 

“Daiki, you should thank her. Now you know the only one who can beat you is _me_.”

“What? What the hell does that mean? We didn’t finish our game!” 

“Are you sure? I’m not the one who’s going to be the talk of the town tomorrow.” 

Aomine’s jaw dropped. “That does _not_ count.” 

“I think you’ll disagree, in a few hours.” Akashi let the doors slam shut behind him with a clang of finality.

Kyuubei stared. Staring was Kyuubei’s default look, but this time he really meant it. Had Akashi gotten his victory, then? Really? That was it? So the laws created by Akashi’s wish were not broken, his soul gem was not broken, no monsters were to be born here this night--

Kyuubei felt distinctly cheated. 

“I feel totally cheated,” said Aomine. “I was about to win.” 

“You should ask Ki-chan to play with you.” Momoi held up her phone. “Or, you could let me take more pictures?” 

“Go to hell, Satsuki.” 

“You obviously want your picture taken, since you haven’t changed back,” Kise noted slyly. “You camera whore.” 

“You’re one to talk.” But Aomine spun around once, fuming quite literally--blue smoke was coming out of his ears--and a moment later he was back in his tank top and pyjama pants. He put his hands in his pockets and slouched, pointedly radiating ennui. “I can’t believe I interrupted my sleep for this crap.” He started slouching his way toward the doors. 

But as he was passing by Kuroko, he sighed and said, more disappointed than angry, “Even this was boring.” 

Kuroko lifted his hand for a moment, turned halfway toward his former partner in light-shadow metaphors, the one who once told him not to not give up on the game they both loved--

Aomine left the gym without a glance behind. 

Kise gave them both a shake of his head. All his laughter had dissolved; he was tired, and bored, and had been that way for a long time. Even Aomine in a skirt had only been a temporary distraction from the tedium of his existence--Kise saw gorgeous leggy people in skirts all the time, after all. “He’s right. Even if we played now, I wouldn’t be able to get into it,” he said, and followed Aomine outside. 

Midorima, who had no more time to waste on this night’s foolishness, started to walk toward the doors too. 

“Midorima-kun,” Kuroko called. 

Midorima stopped to push his glasses up his nose. “What?” 

“Do you believe the future can be changed?” Kuroko’s voice shook, but only slightly. “Is Akashi right? Is it pointless to fight against him? Against…this?” 

Midorima’s jaw was tight, his stance rigid, his pyjamas frumpy. “Don’t get me wrong, Kuroko. I only care about my own destiny. Akashi can do what he likes; his choices have no impact upon me.” He moved toward the doors, started to push them open. “We make our own destinies, God willing.”

And he was gone too. 

Kuroko turned, last of all, to Murasakibara, who had finished off his giant lavender Pocky weapon but summoned a giant green tea Pocky weapon to replace it and was busy gnawing on that. “Don’t worry,” he said, when he noticed Kuroko looking at him, “I don’t get fat.” 

“Thank you,” Kuroko said simply. 

“Huh? For what?” Murasakibara hugged his Pocky close. “I’m not giving you any, even if I have an infinite supply.” 

“You wanted to stop them. Aomine-kun and Akashi-kun.” 

“I did?” 

“You did,” Kuroko said, more firmly now. “I’m quite sure of it. And I’m sure you’ll do the same in high school, or something like it.” 

Murasakibara warily took a bite of artificial green tea chocolate coating. “I don’t think so. Like Aka-chin said, it’s pointless to fight him. And it would be a lot of work to try. So don’t count me in, Kuro-chin.” 

Kuroko took a deep breath. “At least the immediate danger has passed.” 

“Yeah, people shouldn’t play against Aka-chin if they want the world to not die.” 

Murasakibara lethargically waved a hand--the one that wasn’t holding the Pocky stick for consumption--and departed too, leaving Kuroko alone with his thoughts. 

Alone except for Kyuubei. 

And…oh right, Momoi was still here too, wasn’t she, Kyuubei berated himself. How could he have forgotten? The girl was clearly in possession of some strange power that begged analysis, but the thought of her kept slipping from his mind… 

Momoi was busy sidling up to Kuroko; Kuroko busy was ignoring her, lost in dark and terrible thoughts as he was, so she poked him in the forehead a few times. Still he didn’t respond. She poked him harder. 

“Just now, did Mukkun say he has an infinite supply of Pocky?”

Kuroko gave her a surprised look, like he’d had a hard time remembering her existence too. “Oh, I guess so.” 

“That’s amazing! Did he win a contest? Get a sponsorship?”

“I suppose you could say that.” 

Kuroko started to zone out into depression land again, so Momoi started poking him again. 

“Tetsu-kun,” she chided, more gently than her pokes, “they’re gone. They’re not coming back” 

After a moment, Kuroko said, “Yes.” 

Momoi’s smile went more than a little sad. “You should go home and try to get some sleep before school starts. The next time you decide to do a weird cosplay shoot, do it during normal hours, okay?” 

He finally turned to look at her. “You know that’s not what we were doing.” 

“Huh? Really?” 

Kuroko shook his head, and there was a small smile on his face, as sad as Momoi’s own. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome, I guess,” she returned lightly. “Good night, and sweet dreams.”

“Sweet dreams.”

And finally, last among the Generation of Miracles, Kuroko disappeared from the third gym of Teikou Junior high, the very same place where the phantom sixth had been born, into obscurity, into legend. 

Momoi, for her part, watched him go, strangely still, strangely shadowed. 

Then she said, without turning, “We need to talk, Incubator.” 


	18. Momoi II

“No need to explain yourself,” Momoi said. “I know exactly who, or rather what, you are.” 

She turned, looked him straight in the eye, and did not waver. 

“As evident from your form of address for me.” Kyuubei shifted off the human plane, the visible plane, and leapt through the depths of the formless void onto the nearest un-destroyed basketball hoop, but kept himself invisible so his voice would reverberate creepily from the aether. He needed some high ground here. “How did you evade my notice?” 

Though she could not possibly see him, Momoi’s gaze unerringly met his. “I’ve watched Tetsu-kun a long time. I’ve watched them all a long time. You can’t help but pick up a few things.” 

“You have Akashi’s emperor eye too, I notice.”

“Like I said.” 

“In a few years I expect Kise will be able to perform such a feat, but you’ve shown no talent for copying.”

“I learned to copy from Ki-chan.” 

“You can’t copy the ability to copy unless you already have the ability to copy.” 

“And how do you know that I don’t? How do you know what you know?” 

Kyuubei felt the fur on his back standing up. “I know what I know from my own observations…and from your notes.” He made himself visible again, and was not surprised by her lack of surprise. “Did you fake your data on yourself?” 

“No.” Momoi said. “My younger self was quite correct when she took down those statistics, though I’ve grown far beyond what I was. You’ll notice I haven’t written any notes on myself since the very beginning of middle school. Do you understand?”

He didn’t. Kyuubei kept his politely bland expression on, even if inside his mind he was floundering--metaphorically speaking--for an explanation. But of course there was only one.

“What was your wish?” 

Momoi tilted her head to the side, pink hair falling across the pale skin of her face, eyes glowing red; it was like looking into a mirror. “To gain the ability to repeatedly return to my middle school years, during which time I could collect enough data to appropriately shape proceeding events in order to break the Generation of Miracles out of their unending vortex of despair…is the wish I would have made if I’d had the time to think it through.” She brushed her hair out of her face. “But when the world is ending around you, you don’t worry so much about the details.” 

When she did not provide further explanation, Kyuubei did a quick search through his memory banks and said, “I see now. You’re from a different timeline. And you don’t care if I know it.” He suppressed a shudder. “You told Kuroko your wish, the night he made his. I only heard his half of the conversation, but it sounded like your wish was simply to return to the past.” 

“Something like that.” She took her cell phone out of her pocket and looked at it. “I didn’t think you were real, you see, the first time I met you, in my original timeline. I thought you were a delusion. So I told you what I honestly wanted, more than anything in the world, rather than what I truly needed, rationally speaking. But maybe that was for the best.” She snapped the cell phone shut and put it away. “Wishes are not things we make with our heads.” 

“But regardless of the details, your wish did send you back in time, allowing you to change the course of history, which is why I don’t remember any of this.” 

“Yes.” 

“And this has happened more than once?” 

“Yes?” 

“How many times?” 

“This is my five thousand four hundred and sixty-third time through middle school.” 

Well, that was one way to get an education. 

But in truth Kyuubei was horrified: with thousands of years worth of data…Momoi Satsuki, who had not been born with anything more than ordinary basketball talent, was surely more powerful than the Generation of Miracles would ever be. More powerful than Michael Jordan even. Maybe the most powerful human in the world. 

Maybe more powerful than _Kyuubei_ \--at least when it came to the world of middle school basketball. 

He was about to ask why she was telling him all this when she said, rabbit-like eyes glowing eerily in the dark, “I’ve already calculated the effects of telling you all this, Incubator. Because you are who you are you are able to guess at the depths my abilities and my knowledge. As a result you’re going to be too scared to continue your program of energy collection from the Generation of Miracles. You’re going to leave us alone from now on. Trust me: I have over sixteen thousand years worth of data backing me up. I’ve _done_ this before. And I’ll do it again, and again, until it turns out exactly right.” 

She smiled cutely, ruthlessly; Kyuubei wondered if this was how people felt when they talked with _him_. 

“Is that clear?” she said.

Kyuubei nodded, for once without anything to say. 

“Goodbye,” she said, still cutely. 

Like the ones who had gone before her, the magical girl known as Momoi Satsuki turned her back on him and slammed the door. 

And for the first time in his long, long existence, Kyuubei tasted despair. 


	19. Light

And time passed as it always did; the short springtime of youth came to its end as it always did, unironically, in spring.

It ended as it always began--on a day of blue, blue skies.

\- 0 − 0 -

Today was Momoi’s five thousand four hundred and sixty-third middle school graduation ceremony. 

It still hurt. 

_A wish, Tetsu-kun? A wish at any cost?_

You think she’d be used to it by now: the deep hunch in his shoulders, the pale cherry blossoms caught in his paler hair, the way he clutched the black band on his wrist like a funeral rite. 

Momoi had figured out, long ago, even before her thousandth graduation ceremony from Teikou Middle School, that the only way to defeat the future was to let someone else do it for her. 

_Well, after what happened today…_

His back was to her; she had not let him see her today. Around him, boys and girls were laughing and snapping pictures, smiling despite their tears. Kuroko Tetsuya passed through them like he didn’t exist. 

_In the morning I’ll probably say something different, but right now…_

Time had a way of stopping here, even without magic, at this long, cherry blossom moment. 

How much more could he stand? she thought, regret still a hard lump in her throat. How much until he broke? She had done this enough times to know you couldn’t always put a person back together again, even with all the magic in the world. 

_Maybe it’s just a silly hope, but…_

But she also knew: if she did not utterly destroy him, if she only hurt him enough, just so, the right word at precisely the right moment, the right wish and the will to use it--

The heart would not shatter. It would grow stronger, and it would learn to save itself. A miracle in the making. 

_…I would wish to return to the way we were._

Momoi’s eyes slid past Kuroko to the others: to Murasakibara, who was eating monstrous amounts of junk food and glaring dully at those who dared to photograph him; to Akashi, speaking with the principal of the school on matters of no doubt grave importance; to Midorima, standing alone under a cherry tree, an old-fashioned pocket-watch held contemplatively in his hand; to Kise, chatting aimlessly with the admirers who surrounded him like an impenetrable shield.

Aomine was beside her, but then he always was. She made sure of that. 

_Even if that’s kind of impossible._

Alone, she could not change their fates. She had tried. Over and over she had seen their soul gems blacken and break, and she had learned the hard lesson of years: her wish alone was not enough. The future refused to change for her alone. 

_What would you wish for, Tetsu-kun?_

But she was not alone anymore. She had found him--it was never Akashi’s discovery, but _hers_ \--she had found Kuroko Tetsuya, who was all about possibilities, the one person whose future she could not predict. 

_Wouldn’t you wish for…_

That was why she’d chosen him. That was why she loved him. That was why she’d become the shadow behind the shadow. 

That was why she hurt him. 

_…something like me?_

Momoi’s cell phone beeped; she fished it out of her pocket and checked her messages, almost glad for the interruption. 

The news was good. The American company she’d been remotely influencing via cell phone over the past three years had finally transferred a certain employee to a certain branch plant in Tokyo--along with his sixteen-year-old son, who had lived in the United States since third grade, and who happened to be a basketball player. 

The company was arranging a furnished apartment in a safe neighbourhood for the employee and his son, and nearby there was a high school that had been built just last year--a school with a good, but not great basketball team. Kuroko, it so happened, had enrolled at that very school. 

_Tetsu-kun?_

Momoi closed her eyes and breathed in the cool spring air. 

Events were moving fast. She had to make sure the American boy went to Seirin, and she had to make sure he joined the basketball team. And then there were the roommate assignments at Rakuzan and Yousen, the class and seating arrangements for all the schools her friends were going to--so much work to be done, even if she had done so much of it before, in past lives. Momoi needed to move. 

Instead, she pressed the home button on her phone. She’d been using the same photo as a wallpaper for sixteen thousand three hundred eighty-nine years; and still, even at the extra-temporal age of sixteen thousand four hundred and four years, she was sentimental enough to take out her phone just to look at it. 

On some days, she would look at this photo and wish she could be more like Kyuubei, who didn’t need a human heart of his own to know how to manipulate the hearts of others. 

On other days, she told herself she was a lot better at this than Kyuubei, so the trade-offs were worth it. 

And on other days, on days like this, when Kuroko walked away with pale cherry blossoms in his paler hair, when Aomine’s eyes filled with childish hurt, when she knew her own soul gem to be just as fragile despite the long hardening of years--she would look at this picture and be glad her heart was still human, still able to feel hurt, still capable of making its own wishes. 

One day, her heart always said, there would be another photograph like this. The people in it would be taller, eyes a little warier--for the past could never truly be erased no matter how a girl tried, she’d learned that the hard way--but in that photo her wish would finally come true. 

She thought she could see it even now, written in the future: all seven of them, all seven colours of the rainbow, together again after the long, long rain.

\- 0 - 0 -

And Kuroko Tetsuya walked away from Teikou Middle School for the last time of any lifetime, having had his fill of wishes and lights and shadows. 

Until he went to Seirin High School and, by some strange coincidence, met Kagami Taiga, the boy from America, the light who had never known shadow, the Miracle who was not a Miracle. With Kagami Taiga, Kuroko Tetsuya learned that miracles could happen, that wishes could come true. With Kagami Taiga, Kuroko Tetsuya learned to _be_ his own miracle, to _make_ his own wishes come true. 

And if he had a little help from the shadows behind the shadows, well, it was probably best if that fact never came to light. 

Metaphorically speaking. 

  


\- The End - 

  


Author’s notes: 

Would you believe that I had no idea Momoi was the secret heroine of the story until she suddenly showed up and demanded her own chapters? But I guess that is just what secret heroines DO. 

This story is definitely the longest thing I’ve written that I have actually FINISHED. I am kind of amazed and embarrassed that my weird wish to put the Generation of Miracles in skirts went on this long. Honestly, I think some of these chapters probably could be cut, but meh, too late now. 

Thank y’all for reading my long-winded, magickal recap of the Teikou arc, and may Kyuubei never grant you any Faustian wishes. :) 

**Author's Note:**

> All my fics can be found at my dreamwidth account and my fanfiction.net account. I only use this A03 account to participate in challenges!


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